Protect These Eyes, Precious Stranger
by MadameCrowe
Summary: Yaoi! Cain is an assassin for a local London crime organization, but has nowhere to go when his HQ is blown up. Enter Riffael as a doctor for a local hospital who takes care of hurt Cain & takes interest in the young man. Cain/Riff! Enjoy!
1. No Place Else But Yours

**Okay! So my computer is dead for now because my power cord is messed up but it is being shipped as we speak! I hope to have another chapter written and posted by the time I get to Ohio on Tuesday night. Please review if you liked this first chapter! It gives me incentive to write more and to make the next chapter even better! I've done so much research on guns and poisons and I even have a friend at my mom's work that let my mom hold his gun. That sounds dirty... Anyways, yeah! Give me feedback! Do you like where the story is going? Do you want to see more of a character? Any ideas of where you want this to go? Anything is great from anyone, even if you hate it! :D I just want some feedback.**

Okay, okay… So I lied to some of you. I had said that I was going to be posting my Black Butler band fan fiction but I had a change of heart and interest and went with my Godchild story I'd been working on for a while. I was inspired by Akiru_chan's _The Devil's Canvas_, and reading it gave me the confidence I needed to try writing this. I swear, if someone saw my history on my computer they'd be wondering if I was an assassin myself. Research on Derringers, Glocks, sniper rifles, how to stitch up gun shot wounds, how long a man can run with a gunshot wound before he dies or passes out, criminal procedures, poisons, and hospital protocols filled up my time Googling. Thankfully, my mom is an avid crime fiction writer, and she ended up having a gun book, a book over poisons, a crime reference book, and a writer's guide to how criminals work along the other crime and forensic science books she has. I LOVE HER. She used to write fan fiction, too.

So this has been so much fun to write! I can't wait to write more! I had to stop myself from continuing onto the next chapter in this one. XD Once again, I apologize to those of you I told I was going to be posting my Black Butler fic. I'll still do it, just not yet. Also, July 12th through the 16th, I will not be posting. I'm going on the first vacation in ten years.

I did not create _Godchild _nor do I make money off of the fantasies between the characters in the story below. Please enjoy!

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><p>Chapter 1: No Place Else But Yours<p>

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><p><em>Pting! Ptang! Ptink!<em>

The seventh bullet of a fifteen round magazine zoomed passed the man's head, bouncing off of a ventilation duct from the roof, fortunately, away from him. "Jesus! Can't they drop it already?" Cain huffed to himself as he quickly calculated the distance between the building he was on and the roof of the one he was approaching. It would be a long shot, but there was nowhere else to go. Launching himself from the ledge of the roof he was on was the easy part. Getting onto the other roof, not so much. "Fuck!" he barked, hitting his chest against the fire escape's railing, forcing the wind from his lungs. Grasping hands lurched out, grabbing hold of the retractable ladder used for the fire escape. It had slowed his pace, but lowered him to a safe height of only four or five feet above the ground. Hearing another bullet fly passed him and break one of the apartment windows, he jumped down to land securely on his feet. Cain took off, realizing now of how much of a mess he'd truly made. He wouldn't get paid this time around, and the fact that the newspaper-filled suitcase was easily seen through wasn't going to score him points with the boss either. More of seen into as it was a faulty locking mechanism in the container itself that caused the newspaper "drugs" to fall out onto the rooftop. Today had not been Cain's day.

Upon arriving at a back door to a building he was unfamiliar with, Cain slipped in and locked the door behind himself. He pressed his back against the cool metal barrier and slid down to the floor. A slim hand reached up and combed the sweat-dampened hair from his forehead as he groaned lightly from his aching muscles. He waited a moment to catch his breath before opening his eyes. He was blinded at first, but the light from the ceiling was blocked out momentarily as a person walked by. After another second or two, he noticed more people walking by, back and forth. Perhaps not the same person, he pondered as he watched. A hand clutched the fabric of his thin leather jacket over his pounding heart as panic started to settle in when one person, a man, poked a silhouetted head back into the hallway Cain had planted himself in.

"Hey," the man spoke in calming tones, but Cain refused to let the kindness seep into his ears as he tried to stand and grab hold of the door handle. Sliding back into his spot, he tried to play it cool, hoping the other man wouldn't notice his trembling hands. He hated running, it took everything out of him. "Are you alright? Are you here to see a doctor?" the man asked, squatting a few feet in front of the stranger. He was wearing a white doctor's coat with an ID tag pinned to his breast pocket. The light behind him left everything in a shadow, making Cain panic just a little more.

"I'm sorry," Cain breathed, standing on shaky legs and thrusting the door open as fast as he could, "Wrong door!" Without a second's notice, Cain had taken off again, wary of meeting more people along the way and getting caught up. He missed the good days he had, which were few and far between, when all he needed was a nice suit, his charm, and a bottle of chloroform to have a good time at some rich drug dealer's dinner party. It was all he needed, and all he wanted.

**xXxXxXx**

The young man jumped at the words spat at him from across the desk. "Cain, damnit! I knew you were a fucking moron, but this is some serious shit you've gotten yourself into!" Alexis yelled, feeling his face and ears burn as he grew more and more angry. Staring the young man down, Alexis held his hand out to the servant standing beside him to take the leather whip into his own hands. Circling the desk he was previously sitting behind, he stood before his son with a look of disgust. His leather boots creaked lightly as he stepped forward, "Take his arms."

Two men rushed forward, taking the man by the wrists and forearms while Cain did nothing to resist. They turned him so his back was to the older man and forced him to kneel, facing a few other members of his team. His family, or the people he'd come to call family, stood before their young master as the two men tore the back of his shirt off, exposing his back. The cold air stung his skin, but not nearly as much as the crack of the whip.

It was his punishment. As a child, Alexis had forced him to sign a contract under his name, making him the heir to the Hargreaves family. It was unwanted by his father, but Alexis found that the other people in the organization were gossiping about how Cain wasn't the heir and how there was no one else to take over when Alexis was dead. The contract stated one rule: "Cain Hargreaves must undergo punishment only by the headmaster's hand if he is has done wrong."

And ever since he was a child, it had grown more and more accustomed to the others in the group that Cain was never going to get away with anything. It was as if Alexis liked whipping the boy, sending him out on small missions that meant nothing so he could fail and return to the mansion with a ready back. It was almost said to Cain by some of the others to just walk around shirtless, that it would take a load off his father's servants not having to tear the clothing off of him. Many others pitied him, retreating to his room to help him clean the blood off his back with the knowledge that they, too, would undergo punishment for such niceties. It was mostly the women that did this, but there was one man, Oscar, who found himself by Cain's side, metaphorically speaking, when the boy was being whipped. Often times Oscar could catch a glimpse of Cain staring at him as he was being punished, and knew what he was thinking.

Months later and Oscar had yet to get that same stare, realizing how embarrassing it truly was to be in such a situation. He nodded to himself as he watched Cain tremble and stumble his way upstairs to his room. It was no longer his place to take care of him, and he understood.

'Someday…' Cain thought, reaching a hand back behind him with a wash cloth to wipe away the blood. The cloth had been white when he started, but now held a dark pink hue to its fibers. He sat on a small wooden stool in his bathroom in front of the sink, reaching forward to wring out the cloth into the warm, pink water. Years of whippings had caused a pink ring to form around the drain of the sink, forcing him to remember every mistake he'd ever made every time he showered, brushed his teeth, or washed his hands. Deeming himself clean after one last swipe of the moistened cloth, he stood and replaced the stool to its former spot underneath the sink. With a sigh, he made his way into his bedroom and flopped down on the cool sheets of his bed. They needed to be washed. There were still red splotches on it from previous whippings, but he couldn't bring himself to take them out to the laundry room. He didn't want people to see his suffering more than they had to. He groaned as he crawled into the bed, leaving the sheets away from his back and finding a comfortable spot on his stomach. 'Someday… I'll find someone to take me from here…'

His day dreams of escape were interrupted by sleep as Cain rode out the night with a stinging back and an empty stomach.

**xXxXxXx**

'Go to hospital. Pick up medicines. Go back to the mansion. Got it." Cain thought, running over his simple task over and over in his head. The hospital had been supplying the assassin organization for a number of years, agreeing to Alexis' terms that they would, in a way, work for him for protection. If they supplied the goods, the organization supplied the protection. Nowadays with gangs and mobs on the loose in London, it was easy to lose sight of what was right and wrong when half of your staff ends up beaten to death as a claim to the territory that the hospital was on by a local gang. Seeing as it was a mutual benefit for the both of them, the Healing Hearts Hospital had become an ally to the local assassin organization. Cain's ability to manipulate chemicals and medicines into lethal poisons or noxious gases to take out enemies was unmatched. During his good days, when he did things right, as Alexis would say, Cain was sent to dinner parties and small social gatherings, well aware at the task at hand and the small vile of poison in his pocket. It was simple to chloroform a man, drag him into the restroom, lock the door, and interrogate him on the spot. And for quite a long time, it was all Cain was good at. After they decided to train him further to use guns, things got out of hand. Cain was constantly getting shot or missing the target, and had inevitably grown scared of the weapons. More mistakes meant more whippings.

"Hargreaves," Cain stated quietly to the woman at the front desk. He was ushered to the storage room with her and another nurse.

"There wasn't enough of the Valerian, sir," she stated, cringing as if he was going to hit her for not having enough. From the look on her face it seemed it had happened before.

"That's quite alright," he nodded, giving her a gentle smile. "I'll pick some up at the holistic store across the street before going back. It's no trouble."

She gave a small sigh of relief and shoveled the designated items into the black duffel bag Cain had brought along with him. He thanked her for her help and exited the storage room, figuring he'd take the back way to leave today instead of the front. He lugged the bag over his shoulder after he left the building.

"Sorry," he apologized as he bumped into a man passing by.

"Oh, no problem," he replied, straightening his coat over his chest and reaching for the door. He stopped, looking back at the man and went to stop him. "Hey, wait," he called, watching as Cain turned to look at him.

'Shit, he recognized me,' he thought, turning to leave when a hand grabbed his arm.

"You're that man from last night. Are you okay?" the silver-haired man asked as a genuine look of concern crossed his face.

"I'm…" Cain paused, taking in the concern for his well being. It was nice to be concerned over, and for once he didn't want to run. He pulled himself back into reality, though, and shook his head. "I'm…" he thought for a second, realizing it was bad to have someone out in the public who knew your face. But it was so tempting. The genuine concern he heard was heartwarming, and Cain had gone so long without that feeling. He couldn't do it, though. It was against his rules, and if it kept another scar off his back then he would do away with this man. "You must have me mistaken for someone else. Excuse me," he stated bluntly as he wrenched his arm out of the man's grasp. Wanting to kick himself, Cain walked on over to health food store across the street.

"Valerian," Cain uttered as he took one of the four dollar bottles off the shelf to see if it was still useful to him. The chime of the bell over the door and the greeting of the elderly woman at the counter heightened his senses, causing him to be on high alert. When no one approached him directly, Cain went back to reading the label.

"No, I've got the right person," the man whispered, having followed him from the hospital. He gave a small chuckle when Cain nearly jumped out of his skin.

"Damnit," Cain hissed, grabbing four of the Valerian bottles and turning to the other. "No, you don't. Now stop following me."

"Uh-uh," he disagreed, following him to the counter and grabbing his own wallet from his pocket. Setting the money for the bottles before the elderly woman, as Cain was too slow to get to his own wallet to pay for it because of the duffel bag in his hand. "I remember your eyes." Cain heaved a sigh and took the bag of plastic bottles, heading out the door. If he were given a second chance, he would have slammed the door on his face, but the doctor had followed close behind him.

"Don't you have somewhere to be? Some patients to cure?" Cain asked, stopping outside the window of the health food store and turning to face the follower.

Looking to his watch, the man shook his head, "Nope. I've still got about an hour before my shift starts. I like to come in early sometimes."

"Ah, I see," Cain nodded with a fake grin. A frown replaced it quickly, "Stop following me." He shook his head lightly with a small sigh as he walked away, leaving the man to stand there alone.

The doctor piped up after watching Cain walk away for a few moments. It was his last chance. "My name's Riff!" he called after him. Cain smiled and hurried his pace. It was going to be a good day.

**xXxXxXx**

"Ngh!" Cain groaned, clenching his teeth as the whip broke the skin on his back. His eyes burned and his throat restricted anything but quick and shallow breaths, making him feel like he was going to cry. He couldn't, not in front of everyone like this. His hands caught him as he was dropped by his father's servants.

"That'll teach you to be more assertive next time the people at the hospital give you any shit," Alexis blurted, circling the desk and seating himself once again behind it. "Shit rolls downhill, boy, and you should know that by now."

'Shouldn't you be hurting them?' Cain thought, biting his lip to keep him from mouthing off. It would only dig his grave a little deeper if he replied to anything his father said. "Yes sir…" he whispered as he stood on shaky legs and stumbled out of the office. Keeping his eyes to the ground, Cain made his way upstairs to his room, clinging to the railing of the stairs as if it was his lifeline. In a way it was. He was sure he would die if he embarrassed himself any more than he already had, and falling would just make him feel more like dirt under his father's heel. The prior routine of the washcloth, the wooden stool, then the cool refuge of his sheets was repeated, along with the words he'd thought.

'Someday… Someone will take me from here.'

**xXxXxXx**

"Diane," Riff started, looking up from the clip board in his hand. It had been a couple of days since he'd seen Cain, but it was as if he couldn't get him out of his mind. He figured it was just the unique color of his eyes that stood out to him. Whatever the reason, his mind was locked on the young man. "That man that had the duffel bag-"

"Hush, Riff," the nurse blurted, glancing around. She'd forgotten that he was somewhat new. Riff had arrived to replace a promoted doctor only a couple weeks ago, meaning he knew very little about the alliance between the hospital and the local assassin organization. She stood, stopping what she was doing, and pulled Riff aside to speak quietly to him. "His name is Cain Hargreaves. He's the son of the headmaster of the local assassins."

"Oh," Riff breathed, giving a small, excited grin, "So why was he here?"

"This hospital is on their territory and to keep us all from getting killed in gang wars, that organization protects us in exchange for medicines."

"You guys talking about Cain?" another nurse asked in a whisper, starting her little gossip, "Heard he almost got shot a little while ago. Got a friend in that ring. She says she's seen him get whipped nearly everyday this week."

"Whipped?" Riff asked in a whisper, watching one of his superiors walk by without noticing them.

"Yeah. His father hates him. Says he whipped him the other day because we didn't have enough Valerian to give him. Our shipment was late, it was our fault. But I'm glad he took the hit for us. God knows what they would do to us if they didn't take it out on the boy." She sighed lightly, shaking her head, "I still feel bad though. I'm torn."

"I know, he's such a sweet man," Diane agreed, nodding and sliding her pencil behind her ear to leave it there. Riff sighed, crossing his arms as he leaned on the wall beside him. There was no point leaving the conversation, he was on break now anyways.

"I got a call early this morning from them," the other nurse nodded. "Says he's coming back to get the Valerian that wasn't there."

"Why? He got some when he left the hospital. I talked to him," Riff stated.

"But that's not the point. Cain's father is a tyrant, he hates his son. He never gets away with anything. If he has the chance to go get what he didn't get before, then he's sent to get it. Hold on," she said, walking over to the ringing phone at the desk. She listened silently to the voice on the other line, giving only a small, "Understood," before hanging up. "Riff, wanna meet him in person?" she asked with a smirk.

"Definitely," he nodded with a grin, following her down to the lobby. 'I already have… but why not?' he thought and stepped into the elevator with the nurse.

The two spotted Cain from the elevator who stood silent by the front desk with a small suitcase in his hand. He gave a small sigh to the nurse that approached him with Riff, "I'm sorry to bother you. Headmaster has sent me to retrieve the Valerian."

"Of course, right this way, sir," she said with a grin. Riff walked beside the younger man, looking over at him for a moment.

"How's it going, Cain?" Riff asked, trying to be friendly as he patted his hand on the others back.

'Fuck," Cain hissed, moving away from the man and walking a few feet away. It was hard to stay away from him seeing as the hospital's hallways were cramped and busy. He grumbled to himself as he pressed his shoulder to Riff's, not wanting to give the man more attention than was seriously necessary. "Fine," he stated. His back burned and stung from the hand patting it, but he refused to show his pain.

"That's good," Riff replied, walking with them to a storage room. The nurse took the suitcase from Cain and nodded to him.

"I have to get the okay from the boss. It'll only take a minute," the nurse spoke in hushed tones to the two men who were left alone at the door. Cain turned his back to the door and clasped his hands behind his back. Trying his best to look somewhat relaxed, Cain let his shoulders drop and his eyes away from the man beside him.

"So…" Riff started, letting his curiosity take him over, "You carry a gun?"

With a small grimace, the man tried his best not to roll his eyes at the other speaking about such a private matter in such a public place. "Yes," he replied in a whisper.

"Hm," Riff hummed his approval, nodding lightly with a small smirk as he watched others walk by. "What's all the medicine for?"

"None of your business," the young man replied as he turned to the opening door behind him. He reached out a hand and took the offered suitcase, nodding his thanks to the nurse. Lifting his gaze to Riff, he gave a small grin, "It was nice meeting you again, Riff." With that he turned, walking briskly out of the building and toward the mansion.

**xXxXxXx**

When the smoke caught his eye, at first he didn't suspect it to be anywhere near the mansion. Occasionally, because the mansion was off the beaten path, a farmer would be burning trash or cooking out on a barbecue. Once, Cain had been invited to a local barbecue, but was in turned whipped for asking to go. Cain sped up his pace only to halt dead in his tracks when he caught site of the fire burning the back portion of the building. Wide eyed and fearful, he considered going back for help, but quickly calmed himself and dropped the suitcase to the ground. Reaching behind his back, the young man pulled the pistol that had been pressed against his lower back from underneath his jacket. Checking the clip, he shuffled up to the front door and peeked inside.

'What the hell happened?' he pondered, sweeping the area twice before entering. His thoughts constantly went back to where Oscar could have gone or what may have happened to his father, but he was quickly torn from his mind when a searing pain cut through his left shoulder. "Fuck!" he yelled, pointing his pistol one-handed in every direction. He hated guns and it had been a while since he actually used his, but even with the little practice he'd had in the past, it really was just as simple as "point and shoot." Cain did just that. A body dropped quickly to the floor after trying to get a better line of sight of the young man who fired without hesitation at the moving figure.

"Heir Hargreaves!" one man yelled from the balcony of the tall staircase leading to the second floor. The man set the tip of his dagger on the railing of the balcony, twirling it with his fingers. "So you came home. Glad you could make it. I was figuring we'd have to find you later after the house burned down. I mean, you're so busy with your tasks, aren't you…" he paused to give a tricky smile, "… errand boy?"

"Who are you? What have you done with the people of this house?" he barked, pointing the gun to the man on the balcony. "Tell me! Where's Oscar?"

"Oscar? Really? You're not worried about your dear old dad?" he snickered. "And don't answer a question with another question," the long-haired man stated sternly, taking the dagger from the railing as smoke billowed from the doorway behind him, "It's bothersome."

"Why should I care about a monster like him?" Cain snapped, feeling the blood trickle down his arm from the bullet wound in his shoulder.

"Because," the man smirked, motioning the dagger at Cain, "that monster is my father. And I need to see him…"

"What?" Cain hesitated, taking in what the stranger was saying. It was a lie, a joke. But was half of the house being burned to the ground really a joke? How sick must a person be to play such a prank? No, this was the real deal, and Cain was in the middle of it. His father who had beaten him had another son, but wasn't apart of the organization? It made him wonder of what else he was hiding.

"I've seen you… with him everyday! He doesn't whip you like he did me and I won't stand for it!" He yelled, listening to the gun shots in the background before continuing. "Where is he?"

"Alexis?" Cain asked, taken back why the question. He didn't know where he was? "I have no clue." Cain's half brother, or so he deemed, heaved a sigh with the thoughts of killing Cain on the spot. It hit him. If Cain were to call his father a monster, then he must not like him. Therefore, he must not know where he truly is. Then again, it was a great cover up in case he did know where he was. With that thought, the man scowled as he grumbled his displeasure.

"Cain Hargreaves," he started, pointing the dagger in his direction, "Our father loved you so much… and gave you love everyday. I promise, for every scar on your back I will take back that love that you take for granted! And I'll start with your eyes first!" The man threw the dagger, hurling it at Cain before a small explosion went off behind him. Cain lunged forward, grabbing the dagger after it landed in the wooden floor with a 'thunk,' and running back out of the house through the front door. Remembering all of the explosives they'd accumulated over the years, Cain tried his best to put distance between the house and himself. With luck, the young man managed to make it almost all the way down the driveway before being hit with the aftershock of several explosions. It was chaos. After he figured it was okay to stand and run again, he would be knocked back down, jarring the bullet wound when he fell. Slicing his leg open with the other man's dagger, he fell into the street to lay in the deep storm gutter until he felt strong enough to stand and run. He didn't get whipped, but the day still turned out to be pretty shitty.

As the sound of sirens filled his ears, Cain stumbled to his feet on wobbly legs and forced himself to run. Where? He wasn't so sure himself.

**xXxXxXx**

Darkness slowly fell upon the city only half an hour after Cain had found a place to hide in an alley with a group of homeless men he'd met on a mission. One of them was actually a highly trained gunman, having worked for the organization for a number of years. He had been sent out on assignment not too long ago, but along with all the other people of the assassin group and local gangs, he was aware of the destruction of their headquarters. He expressed his remorse for Cain's family, and giving his condolences, the man watched over the young man as he slept. He's told him it was a bad idea to sleep with a gun shot wound, but Cain was insistent on sleeping.

Cain thanked the man as the moon rose high into the clear sky and felt as a dizzy spell took him over. Shaking it off, he made his way down the sidewalk. Few people were about at this time, probably because the media had posted a warning to the public of the presence of local gangs, so Cain had no problem walking about with his hand gripping his shoulder as blood clung to every place it touched. It felt as though he was floating a foot off the ground while his feet felt ten pounds heavier all at the same time.

The familiarity of the hospital's back door was a comfortable sight. Stumbling over, he took hold of the door handle and tugged, feeling his shoulder twinge with a dull pain. "Ow…" he hissed, taking the handle with both hands and tugging. The fever developing kept him from realizing he had to turn it to open the door. Lethargy turned to fear, and that fear grew to panic. Banging his fist on the door, Cain yelled the only name he could remember. "Riff! Riff!" he called, panting heavily from fever. "Come on! Every time I come over here I run into you and now you're not here?" Cain lifted both hands and slammed them into the barrier before him, not noticing it was a man's chest. Riff had opened the back door after hearing the commotion, and caught the feverish man who fell into his open arms.

"Cain, what happened?" he asked quietly as he wrapped his arms about the man.

"Brother… Killed 'em…" he panted as his fingers curled, gripping onto the scrubs the other was wearing. "I'm tired…"

Riff looked to his blood covered arm and grimaced, wrapping his arms tighter around him to drag him inside. "Let's get you cleaned up," he muttered, feeling the heat radiating through Cain's clothing. It was bad; his fever was spiking. With the help of the couple of nurses who knew Cain, Riff got the young man onto a gurney to wheel him to a hospital room. They slid the knife and gun underneath his body to hide them from curious eyes. A hot and shaky hand stopped him from doing anything any further.

"Riff," Cain whispered in the most stern voice he could muster.

"Cain, don't talk. I'll take care of everything." He took a towel from the nurse and pressed it to the slow bleeding wound. It wouldn't be long for the blood to stop.

"No. Riff, they can't know I'm here," he breathed.

"What?"

"Nothing official. I'm. Not. Here."

Riff thought for a second but gave a small nod, understanding quickly what was going on. If Cain was in this bad of a condition, then whoever shot him must have wanted him dead. If someone said something about him being alive, it could cost the young man his life. "Alright. If someone asks, I'll put you down as-"

"Alex Blackbird…" he uttered as he fell back on the gurney, finally letting the couple of nurses he'd met before roll him down the hall and to the elevator. It was such a relief to know Riff had his back.

"I'll take him to room six-sixty-four. I'm not on call tonight, so I'll be free to fix him up. You two go back to work and tell no one about him." Riff let the ladies leave as he checked his watch, riding the elevator to the sixth floor. It was only fifteen minutes after midnight, and had he left the moment he was off his shift, he would have been home by then. Rolling the injured man down the hall, he heaved a heavy sigh as he closed the door behind him and Cain in the room he'd specified. It was well equipped and had everything he needed to fix him up, but it was small and meant for patients who were in their deathbeds. After realizing this, Riff gave a small, silent promise that it wouldn't be Cain's deathbed. He pulled latex gloves on and got to work.

After making sure he was stable, Riff took his pair of scissors and cut away the man's shirt. He tugged it off carefully and went over the list of things he needed to fix a bullet wound: a jug of hydrogen peroxide, a stack of clean towels, several hemostats, three needles and a spool of hospital grade thread, a small, metal bin filled with water, a small file, a couple scalpels, and rolls of bandages. Riff was never one to get "just enough." Instead, he grabbed as much as he could, and suffered the consequences later. Most times he was just yelled at by the nurses for taking too much stuff, so it wasn't so bad a punishment. He pulled the gun and knife out from underneath him and set them on one of the two armchairs, wrapped in the shirt he'd cut off of Cain.

With a confident nod as if to tell himself "go", Riff soaked one of the towels in the water and gently washed the dried blood off of Cain's chest and shoulder. The bleeding had stopped on the gurney in the elevator, which gave him the chance to start stitching him up sooner. 'Bullets fragment upon entry…' he reminded himself as he took the hemostats into his hand. He knew this would hurt, and he couldn't take the chance of someone hearing Cain scream. "Cain," the doctor whispered, setting the hemostats down on the metal tray beside him when greenish-gold eyes looked up at him. He touched his cheek with his gloved hand and felt his fever was still high. "This is going to hurt," he whispered, moving a bit closer so his thigh was at Cain's hand. "When it hurts," Riff paused, taking the others hand and placing it on his leg, "just squeeze my leg. Try not to scream."

"I'll try," he replied. It was going to be worse than getting the bullet in his shoulder in the first place.

"Alright. I apologize in advance," Riff said with a small smile. He took the hemostat into his hand and, with a quick warning, dug the metal instrument into the bullet hole.

"Nghh… Ah!" Cain heaved, lifting his other hand and covering his mouth. It was going to be a long surgery.

"Don't pass out on me. I've almost got it," Riff hissed after a few minutes of failed attempts to grab the metal intruder. When he felt the hemostat grab hold of something, he slowly pulled it from the man's shoulder. Both sighed when their gazes landed on the slug. It was whole, which meant no more digging in the open wound that had started bleeding again. "Shit," Riff breathed as he took hold of a towel and pressed against the bloody wound. Once the bleeding had stopped, he opened the bottle of hydrogen peroxide and cleaned out the wound.

There was one thing Cain knew for certain from experience after some of his whippings: peroxide was a bitch. "Fuck you and all the people you know!" Cain cursed, not meaning it towards anyone in particular as it burned and stung his raw flesh.

"It'll be over soon," Riff reassured as he took his time cleaning the wound. It would be even worse than it was now if the injury got infected. He listened intently to the qualms Cain voiced continuously during the procedure. As taught, Riff cut away the dead flesh around the cavity of the wound before using the small file to loosen up the dead or infected flesh that had accumulated within the hole. Again, the doctor cleaned it thoroughly with peroxide and cool water and started his stitching. He'd changed gloves nearly four times already, but it was all to be sure there wasn't going to be any infection. Changing his gloves once more, Riff did a running stitch pattern to close up the wound. Cain had grown quiet and still, but not the hand on his thigh. It had gripped his clothed leg time and time again, leaving Riff to worry about how bad the bruises would be from the tight grip.

Once the bandages were secure, Riff stood up straight and sighed when he laid eyes on the blood collecting underneath the man's leg and back. "You're hurt somewhere else…" he stated, getting ready to roll the other over. "I need you on your stomach." Gently, he flipped him while he listened to the stern "Fuck you" when he did. There were pieces of glass in Cain's back. He hesitated a moment when he saw the multiple scars, amongst the somewhat fresh cuts, on the male's slender back. "I'm going to stitch up your leg. Afterward, I'll get this glass out of your back. It'll only take a little while."

It was simple. Cut the pants leg off, clean and disinfect the wound, stitches, bandages, done. The glass, however, wasn't as simple to get out. Constantly, Riff was cutting the skin more than it already was when he pulled the shards out. He brought the tray close to him as he sat on a stool he found in the corner, pulling the glass and wood fragments from the man's skin and placing the pieces in the trash can he had pulled up beside him. He washed the cuts as he worked, leaving nothing but little slices with tiny beads of blood surfacing slowly over time. Cain had grown silent, not even noticing the cuts on his back. Long ago he had lost feeling in his back so that the smallest touch he never bothered to acknowledge. He was doubtful that even a slice with a knife would be noticed until it started healing and making it sore to move.

Riff piped up after several minutes of silence, "Cain, you going to tell me how this happened?"

With a grunt, he simply acknowledged the man's presence. He didn't want to talk about it, but perhaps someone needed to know. "My family… organization, I mean. Our headquarters was attacked. I think… I think I'm the only one left," he whispered, not having thought about it until now. "Some man was there. Said he was my brother… but I've never met him before. I'm not so sure who shot me…" he muttered, thinking back to what had happened. He really, honestly, had no clue who had shot him. He shared a long pause with the doctor before uttering a small, "He wants my eyes."

"Your eyes?" Riff asked, noticing Cain jump slightly. Apparently he had forgotten the man was there, listening to the other ramble.

"Yeah… He said I take my father's love for granted," he stated, sighing lightly. "The scars you're looking at are the only marks of his 'love' I've ever known. I suppose that's what that guy was talking about. If he wanted my father's so-called 'love' he could've had it years ago…"

Riff pulled the last sliver of wood from the man's scarred back and cleaned the wound it left. With a gentle hand, the doctor ran his fingers down the back in search for any remaining glass and wood pieces. He gave a small grin when the body under his touch shivered as goosebumps raised on the skin. Riff stood and placed another towel underneath the man's shoulder around the bullet wound so that he wasn't laying on it. The doctor took a tube of Neosporin and rubbed the gel onto the cuts on Cain's back, pausing as he lifted his arm to rest his head on it. When he was done with the antibiotic gel, Riff lifted Cain's chest up just enough to put a pillow between his arm and head so it was more comfortable.

"You do a good job, my friend," Cain whispered as Riff dried his hands from washing them.

"Thank you, Cain," he replied as he walked over with a damp washcloth. He scooted the armchair over and sat, wiping the sweat and grime from the explosion off of Cain's pale neck and forehead. He unfolded the cloth before folding it with the clean side out and placed it on the back of the man's neck in attempt to keep him somewhat cool.

Riff stayed up until around four in the morning, watching as Cain fell asleep and checking him periodically to see if the fever had subsided. Around three, the fever disappeared without a trace, leaving the doctor to watch the sleeping face of the most vulnerable assassin he'd ever encountered. It was quite a different side of the man he'd seen, but then again he hadn't seen many sides of him besides rude and appreciative.

**xXxXxXx**

A 'thud' filled the room when Riff's head hit the side of the armchair after his hand had slipped away from its spot on his temple. "Huh?" he questioned, his eyes shooting open and over to the empty hospital bed that once held Cain. With a sigh, he stood and looked out the window only to see the sun trying to make its way into the sky. The shirt, gun, and knife were gone, but he noted the cabinet that held extra scrubs and hospital gowns had been rummaged through. At least Cain wasn't running around without pants, Riff thought with a nod.

Cain hissed as he stumbled out the back door, grunting his displeasure when he jarred his leg. "Fuck…" he grumbled, wanting nothing more than to go back to sleep. It wasn't safe, though, to stay in one spot, especially if the enemy knew he was injured. Perhaps it was more dangerous to be out in public, but he had nowhere else to go but in public. At least, if there are people around someone can't come up and kill him without a bystander calling the cops. If he stayed out in the open, though, he could be easily picked off by a sniper and with his leg in such a condition, he feared he would be a sitting duck to any sniper whether they were new with a rifle or not.

**xXxXxXx**

It had only been a week since Cain had disappeared, but the doctor who had helped to lick his wounds found his mind constantly going back to the gleaming green-gold eyes of the young assassin. He thought of the scars on his back, the knife, the pistol, the thin-fingered hand that gripped his thigh in pain. All of him. Riff heaved a small sigh at these memories as he walked down the darkened, midnight street. Passing beneath a flickering street lamp, the doctor shoved his hand deep within his pocket to fish out his keys. He had a car, but he felt it was pointless to waste money on gas when his place of work was only about a fifteen minute walk from his apartment. Climbing the steps, Riff raised a hand to cover his mouth as he yawned. The surgery he'd performed on a young woman with a gull bladder problem was tiring, but the paperwork he'd had to do all day was even more so. He waved a warm hello to the elderly lady sitting at the front desk of his apartment building before taking the stairs two by two. The familiar halls and doors were calming, comforting, and his own apartment door was a sight for sore eyes. When he slid the key in the lock, the door swung open. It was unlocked to begin with. Someone was here.

Riff was expecting to have been robbed, but instead a pleasant surprise sat comfortably upon his couch with a glass of water in his hand. Cain had made himself at home, finding the glass in the cabinet in the small kitchen and getting himself some water to drink. Without a single dime in his pocket, Cain had found it difficult to buy sustenance. The young man had the light blue scrub bottoms he had stolen clinging awkwardly to his legs and his knife and pistol laying on the couch cushion beside him. Lock picks rested snug in their black case open on the coffee table.

"How did you know I lived here?" Riff asked, closing the door behind him and taking off his coat. Tossing it on the nearby chair, he stood with a worried look to the man. Was Cain here to kill him now that he knew what had happened to the organization's headquarters?

"I followed you home a couple of times. Just because I have a hole in my shoulder, it doesn't make me a cripple," he stated quietly with a small chuckle as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and shifted his gaze to the carpet. "Plus I did some research and asked some of the nurses to 'show me the storage room.' Who knew women were so weak when they are being seduced? Grabbed a folder with your name on it, and there it was: your address all nice and perfect on the paper inside. Hospitals these days, I swear. I could've done it all with my hands tied behind my back," Cain gloated lightly, swirling the water in his glass before looking up at the now calm expression on Riff's handsome features. There was something gentle about his face, about his eyes, Cain realized as he took in the gentle stare he received. Looking him from head to toe, the young man noted how the scrubs clung in the appropriate places. His shoulders, his toned chest, his hips and thighs. It'd been a long time since he'd laid his eyes on such a handsome man. For a second, he wondered what he looked like out of scrubs. Then he wondered what he looked like in normal clothes. Then, again, his mind went back to how he may look without clothes. With a smirk, he noticed Riff's hair was silver or grey in color, and reminded himself to ask how old the doctor was.

"So what are you doing here?" Riff asked after a pregnant pause was shared between the two, grey eyes staring into greenish-gold discs. His eyes were so different, no wonder his brother wanted them.

He opened his mouth to speak, but lifted a hand and covered his parted lips before anything more could slip out. With a nervous grin and a fearful chuckle, he felt the corners of his lips fall into a frown. It was miserable, feeling this alone and this abandoned, that even an assassin would feel the small, cold hole forming in his chest.

Cain spoke in a quiet, humbled tone, "I have no where else to go."

* * *

><p><em>To be continued…<em>


	2. Nowhere Safe

The second chapter! Finally! I know this is late. No stabbing me please. I'll have the next one up on time, I'm sure.

I did not create Godchild nor do I make money off of the fantasies between the characters in the fan fiction below.

Please review! Even if you hated it! It gives me the incentive to write more and to make the next chapter even better! Thanks for those who have reviewed! Enjoy the show!

* * *

><p>Chapter 2: Nowhere Safe.<p>

* * *

><p>It was easy. The doctor was worked to the bone and Cain noticed right away how drained he was after work. Keeping a safe distance of at least thirty feet or more, Cain tailed the older man to his apartment and took refuge behind the building with a couple of close contacts he'd met up with before. They kept watch over the sore young man as he slept through the night only to awake the next morning to follow Riff to his work. He noted his routine: lock the door, straighten coat, go down the stairs. Walk one block to the coffee shop, buy either a chai latte. He'd walk another block to his work, and this day he used the front door. It was the fifth day he'd been tailing him. The other days, he went through the back entrance. It was odd, but Cain supposed it was the way normal people lived. They needed different things to make life seem a little more interesting.<p>

It wasn't long before his shoulder began to throb and his leg began to ache from moving so much and without proper care, and it took him just that long to tell himself it was safe in Riff's apartment. It was safe where Riff was. He was safe with Riff.

Riff was on call one night and it was the most perfect timing. Cain tugged his jacket over his chest as the cool London air crept into the night, kneeling at the door to Riff's apartment. With thin, pale fingers on cool metal lock picks, the assassin silently broke in and locked the door behind him. Tonight, he would take refuge in his home. It was risky, but being a squatter was always a fun concept to Cain. He had no phone or camera to take pictures, but he was gifted with a photographic memory. It wasn't hard to put everything back where it was to begin with, though. A single man's apartment was dull and empty, and the contents were all logically placed. A basket on a small shelf by the door for his keys, a small coffee table with a TV remote with the numbers nearly worn completely off, and a couch with a blanket and pillow carelessly tossed about beside a small, comfortable armchair. Riff slept here, Cain had thought, touching the blanket with a gentle hand.

Riff was safe.

So who was Cain to take that safety away from the man who saved his life? He sighed lightly, knowing it was selfish. But was it not selfish of that man who claimed to be his brother to take his home and family away from him? Cain cared as much for his father as a piece of gum on his shoe. Sure, it was bothersome at times, but its bothersome ways were simply acknowledgments that it was still there. His father wasn't dead, and he knew it. Often, when Riff was at work, the young man would find himself at the remains of his headquarters, searching high and low for clues as to where his father may have disappeared to. He'd willingly give his father up in exchange for his own life, but if he couldn't find him then he was out of luck.

After lifting a rather heavy piece of fallen wall from a pile of rubble, and straining his shoulder, Cain heaved a sigh when his golden-green eyes landed their gazes upon a ring of keys his father kept with him at all times. They were stained in red, blood perhaps, and when he tried to pull them from underneath a rock, he saw that they were caught on a piece of clothing. His fear that his father was dead had come true. Of course, he hated the man, but he needed him as a bargain for his own life. A heavy, defeated sigh left him when he set eyes upon the mangled, burned, and indistinguishable body of his father. Well, of what he _thought_ was his father. He wasn't certain, but he became quickly confused when he pulled the ring of keys from his pocket as he sat on the couch in the warm apartment. Riff sat silently beside him in the armchair, listening intently to how Cain came to be on his couch in his apartment.

"So your father is dead?" Riff asked with a concerned expression crossing his features. He saw Cain hesitate for a moment before his head bowed in a small nod.

"I think so…" he whispered, jingling the keys in his hand as if to reassure himself that his father was dead with that sound. It wasn't enough, but it was just enough. It didn't seem true, but it was true. Perhaps Cain deserved this, a chance for his wounds to heal and for his scars to fade. But did he deserve to rest when his family was dead and the murderer was still loose?

"What're you going to do now?" Riff asked, sliding forward in his chair to sit like Cain with his elbows on his knees, hunched over in thought. Silver eyes ran up and down the thin frame of the man on his couch. He was dirty. His black hair was greasy and dull with grime, his filthy locks leading down to his borrowed clothes He needed a haircut and a shower. Noticing the young man's lips part to say something, Riff cut him off by standing quickly. Cain went to reach for his gun as his eyes darted to the other man in the room. He sighed, letting his guard down when he saw Riff's hands go up in a surrendering way, and placing his elbow back on his knee. "I know what you're going to do now."

"What?" Cain quipped, staring at the silver-haired man close to him. He sat up when the other walked up to him, feeling a gentle hand wrap its fingers about his wrist. Tugged to his feet, the young man groaned at his sore leg and shoulder, and looked to Riff for an explanation.

"A bath."

* * *

><p>"Ow!" Cain hissed when fingertips touched at the sore and throbbing bullet wound. He sat on the edge of the bathtub with a soft, white towel about his waist. Blood rushed silently through his veins and to his cheeks when he dared to look at the man kneeling before him. It was awkward and embarrassing to be half nude in front of such a handsome man, but Cain refused to let anything show on the surface what was going on in his head. Forcing the blush to disappear was easy. He simply leaned a little to far into the doctor's touch and he was quickly turning his attention to the dull pain in his shoulder. His thigh was fine along with the multiple cuts on his back, but his shoulder was slightly infected and the bandages were brown and needed to be changed.<p>

Riff, with a glance to the young man before him, set gentle fingers to work to peel away the layers of bandages he'd applied a while back. "You may need antibiotics. I'm amazed you don't have a fever right now," he muttered, shifting his leg beneath himself to move to a more comfortable position. He mumbled a few other medical things, but Cain was paying him no attention.

"I don't want antibiotics…" Cain grumbled, feeling Riff's breaths form a cool wind on his body. His hair was clean and glossy and dripping moisture onto his shoulders. With a shiver, Cain watched Riff's gaze shift to the goosebumps that formed on his skin. "I just need you to change the bandages… I'll be out of your hair once you're finished." For a moment, a small hole appeared in the bottom of his stomach, forcing him to frown and realize where he'd be if he left this apartment. Back on the streets, he'd thought as he clutched the white towel with his fingers in his lap.

Riff was safe here.

"No," Riff disagreed, shaking his head lightly as he peeled the last dirty bandage from the man's shoulder. "I need to watch you to make sure you don't run a fever. Besides, you don't have anywhere to go, do you?"

"Yeah." A lie. Cain had nowhere but the streets.

"Fine. I'll take you there when we're finished."

"No, I can go on my own."

"I'm taking you there, and there's no arguing."

"I don't want you to!" Cain hissed, feeling Riff's once gentle hand grip tight onto his bicep. Eyes wide, he stared up at the man now standing in front of him.

With a scowl, Riff muttered, "Don't lie to me, Cain. Do you have anywhere to go?"

Cain huffed, tugging his arm away and shifting his gaze. "I can go to the shelter a few blocks away…"

"No," Riff growled, standing up straight and staring down at the younger man sitting on the edge of the tub. "It's over ten blocks away! They don't feed those people enough down there. They barely have enough beds for the homeless ones that need the shelter. You have everything right here." The doctor motioned a hand to the door behind him as if to gesture to the rest of the house. Cain gave an odd look, one mixed with confusion and anger. He could take care of himself, Riff knew that, but Cain wasn't so sure. "You're staying here," Riff sternly reassured, pointing a finger to him and reaching to the counter for a new roll of gauze.

"I can sleep on the floor," Cain stated, watching as the doctor bandaged his shoulder. It was a silent and time consuming process, but Cain couldn't help but grimace, not at the dull, throbbing pain in his shoulder, but at the growing tenseness in the silence. It was awkward and lonely, and made him shift his feet a couple of times. But after a while of bandaging, Cain felt Riff's large, gentle hand ghost down his arm. It wasn't anything special, but it was enough to calm his nerves from the stagnant air about them. After what seemed like an hour, Riff removed himself from his task and stood up straight, feeling his back crack once or twice. He offered a hand to the young man and grinned when it was hesitantly taken. He liked to see Cain hesitate and be shy.

"I'll let you have my bed. I don't sleep there anyways," he stated, walking the injured Cain into the adjoined bedroom. Leaving the male at the bed, Riff grabbed a pair of pajama pants and a button-up pajama shirt from the dresser at the other side of the room. Cain, shy as he was, had forced him to turn around while he put the pants on. Riff, however, refused to let the younger male struggle with the shirt longer than he had, and stood before him, buttoning the shirt for him in silence. Noticing the small blush on the man's cheeks, the doctor pressed his hand to Cain's forehead to check for any sign of fever. "You're face is flushed but you don't have a fever," he mumbled, touching the others chin to raise it and look him in the face. After a moment, he leaned in and pressed his lips to the forehead presented to him. Feeling Cain jump lightly from the action, he pulled away and shook his head. "Nope. No fever." In a way, he liked teasing him, seeing a man with such a title as "assassin" be shy and quiet, but he stopped his antics and pulled himself away from the man.

'Damnit, Riff…' Cain thought, balling his hands into fists and huffing a sigh through his nose, 'Why do you touch me so much? It's weird.' The doctor helped Cain onto the edge of the small, one-person bed and pulled the covers up for the other to get under.

"You sleep on the couch all the time, right?" he whispered, groaning as he crawled under the blankets to try and sleep. It was so late, and he doubted he'd be able to be awake when Riff left. There was no point in leaving, he reminded himself, curling under the blanket and watching as Riff gave a confused look. "I know more than you think, Riffael." With a smirk, Cain rolled over with his back to the doctor. He heard a small chuckle, a scuffle to the door, and the flick of the light switch. The door closed, causing the room to grow dark and cool. And for once in a very long time, he was able to sleep.

* * *

><p>'He's still asleep…' Riff thought, cracking the bedroom door open after he returned from work at the hospital. That day, there were several people who died in surgery from multiple gun shot wounds and stabbings. He was sure the deaths were because of the fall of the Hargreaves organization and how the local gangs were fighting to take over the territory. Riff was stuck in the middle of every bit of gossip between the other nurses and doctors, and forcing himself to tell them of Cain being at his apartment. The couple of nurses that knew Riff had taken care of Cain were good and silent, almost as if it'd never happened. The doctor sighed lightly, slipping into the room with a bag of small, white boxes in his hand. Setting the bag on the floor near the nightstand, Riff sat himself on the edge of the bed. Cain was asleep on his back with an arm draped over his stomach, so it was easy to get to the young man's shirt. Silently, he pulled the sheet from the other's shoulder and unbuttoned the pajama top to tug it away. The wound hadn't bled into the bandages, which was good, and when he touched it with gentle fingers, it wasn't hot or swollen. It was nice seeing Cain like this. It was odd to see how vulnerable such a tough man could be, and Riff couldn't help but let his eyes stray to the pale skin of his neck and collar bone. His physique was much like a woman's, but had a leaner, toner feel to his muscles, a feeling that no woman could have. It was masculine and feminine. It was…<p>

"Something smells good…" came a whisper from the supposedly sleeping man before him. Cain watched the small growing grin on Riff's face that followed the startled look.

"I stopped and got some Italian before I came home. You hungry?" Riff asked, removing his hands from him.

"Yeah. Wait…" Cain paused, sitting up on his elbows to look to the window before turning his gaze back to Riff. It was dark out, "You just came home? I slept that long?" It was as if he was worried about sleeping so long.

Riff nodded in agreement and stood, taking the bag of food into his hand, "Yeah. Come on, let's go eat," he said and left for the dining room. The young man sighed, throwing the covers off of him and hopping out of bed. His thigh throbbed for a moment after getting out of bed but stopped soon after. A small grin grew on his face when he laid eyes upon the couple of opened boxes of pastas and breadsticks. Riff returned the grin when he looked to the pleased Cain staring at the food. "Sit. Eat," the silver-haired man motioned to a chair beside him at the small, circular table. A comfortable silence grew between the two as they ate, Riff having grabbed a couple of plates and forks earlier. The silence was as if, to Cain, they had known each other for so long, but as he lifted his gaze to the man across the table from him, he sighed. He knew nothing, or at least little enough about him to call nothing.

"Riff," Cain started, wiping his mouth with the back of his wrist and setting his fork down. "Will you do me a favor?"

"Hm?" Riff looked up, swallowing his mouthful of pasta and taking a breadstick into his hand. "What's that?"

"I need to go somewhere," he stated quietly, leaning forward a bit. "I didn't want to simply steal your car, and you seem to be reliable enough to trust. I will pay you for the gas to get there. Well… somehow."

"And where would that be?" he asked, taking a bite of his breadstick and chewing silently.

"Grindlow."

"That's a four hour drive from here," Riff muttered with a slump of his shoulders. He sighed, seeing Cain lower his gaze to the table almost in a shameful way. He had no way to pay him and no one else to ask.

"Please, Riffael," the young man muttered, shifting his gold-green eyes back to Riff's silver ones. "You're one of the few that knows I'm still alive and fighting. I have to stay dead to those other people. If someone found out I wasn't dead, they'd-"

"Alright, I get it," Riff said as he breathed a sigh through his nose. "I'll take you. When do you need to go? I don't have any surgeries tomorrow, so how about then?"

"Perfect," Cain nodded, a grin spreading amongst his lips. "I'll drive, I know the way. Besides, it's pretty well hidden and they'll panic if you drove up. You'd be dead before I could explain to them that you were the one taking care of me. Plus, they're far enough away from here in London that they won't know that my family has fallen. It'll be safer than buying from the black market on Royston Street."

Riff stopped, looking to Cain with a confused glance, followed by a look of realization. "Wait, Royston… that's not to far from where I work. That's only about a block from here. There's a black market that close?"

With a smirk, Cain forked a couple pieces of pasta and lifted them from the plate. "Lots of things you don't know about this city, Riffael," he stated quietly before taking the bite of his food.

* * *

><p>Riff sat up abruptly when Cain hit a pothole, looking around with tired eyes. The younger man had been driving fine until they arrived in the countryside where the potholes were multiplying by the dozen as they went along. "How far?"<p>

"We're in Foolow now. We'll be there in just a few minutes," Cain replied while the other leaned back in the seat to close his eyes for a little while longer.

After a while, Cain slowed to nearly a stop in the middle of a small, unlined country road. Reaching over, he patted Riff's thigh to wake him up, who shot up and fixed his seat in a hurry, not because he was startled by the other's touch while he was half asleep, but because he was eager to see where they were headed. The car stopped in the middle of the road, and Cain leaned forward to reach a hand down to his ankle. He undid the strap on his leg and pulled it up, laying it across Riff's thigh. Snuggled comfortably in the small holster was a two-shot, American Derringer pistol along with a row of eight other small bullets held by the same strap. He kept his hands away, worried it would go off if he just touched it.

"Don't be such a girl," Cain stated sternly as he pulled the loaded gun from it's holster. Riff cringed a moment when the other checked the two bullets and held it out to him. "Take it." He did as he was told. It was an odd weight, too light to be a gun, and felt awkward in his hands. The barrel was only about three inches long and the whole gun was only about five inches, making it tiny in his large hands.

"This is one of my back-up guns. It's called a Derringer, and is one of the smallest guns made. Put the strap on your ankle high enough for you to reach it when you need it."

"When I need it?"

"You won't, but I don't want you becoming leverage if something happens when we get in there." Cain let the car go, turning down a dirt road into the woods as he spoke. "They'll take it off of you before we go in, but that's all you'll need to worry about. The only question I want you to ask if something happens is, "Where is my gun?" Don't wonder where I might be or how many people there are around or where all the exits are. Just find your gun. Normally, they keep the guns that they take off of customers and lock them in a suitcase by the front door. It'll be easy to get to because those who are guarding the stuff being kept at the front door will be asked away to help with whatever situation that may happen. I showed you how to get into a locked briefcase last night so that won't be a problem."

"I'd become leverage?" Riff asked out of curiosity. It was almost nice to think that he could become something important enough to shoot someone over.

"Yes," the other stated simply. Glancing to the male, he frowned lightly, "Not like I care _that_ much about you."

Riff gave a defeated look, sliding the gun back into its holster and strapping it securely to his leg underneath his pants leg. He recalled the lesson he was taught last night after they ate their dinner. Cain had looked to him after he finished eating and sighed, nodding lightly as if to reassure his decision he'd made in his head a little while ago.

"Tonight, I'll teach you how to break open a locked suitcase." The assassin had said with a nod, looking to the man across the table. "That is, if you have one."

"Of course," Riff nodded, standing and retreating into his room only to emerge a few minutes later with a black suitcase in hand. "It's old. Will that do?"

"Yeah, that's fine," Cain muttered taking the case and setting it on the table after Riff took away the dishes and trash, clearing the table so they could work. "Come sit beside me. You need to watch this." Cain pulled a beat up bobby pin from his pocket that he kept with him at all times, knowing that something so small could come in handy in situations like these. He showed it to Riff who watched intently and took mental notes of how he toyed with the couple of tumblers in the lock until it flung open. For nearly two hours before they finally went to sleep, Riff and Cain sat with the suitcase, picking the lock over and over again until Riff could do it without any problems.

"I can get into that suitcase. What do I do after I get my gun back?" the silver-haired man asked, looking to Cain who was watching for something on his own side of the car in the woods.

"Run. Find the car and go. If I get there and you're gone, I'll fend for myself," Cain stated sternly, rolling down his window when they came upon a short pole with a black box attached to the top. Reaching out, he flipped open the box and pressed the small button in the center of it before closing it with a snap. Silently, two men emerged from the woods with what looked to Cain like small sub-machine guns. He heard Riff shift in his seat and reached over, squeezing his knee with thin fingers, trying to calm him down. "Don't freak. They won't shoot. They're just guards." Riff relaxed, looking at the dashboard, thinking that looking at the guard on his side of the car would offend the man and get himself shot. It was a weird feeling having Cain's hand on his leg in such a way, but he took it, thinking that maybe he was just reaching for what was closest to him besides his hand. Cain rolled up the windows after he was given a small nod from the guard on his side and spoke in hushed tones to the man in the passenger seat.

"Riff, I would like you to know…" he started, driving slow enough not to pass the guards walking them up the narrowing driveway, "If something goes wrong and I happen to make it to the car before you," he paused, looking to the other with a cold stare, "I won't wait for you."

They were harsh and cold, his words stinging Riff with every bit of ice they held. But the man understood and gave a slow, accepting nod to the man beside him before they came to a stop.

"Out of the car," the guard on Cain's side barked, tapping the window. The car went quiet as he cut it off, both of them stepping out of the car and subtly stretching their legs after the long ride. "This way, please," the guard stated as they walked off towards a pair of large oak trees standing about six feet apart. They were trees that were only really noticeable when close to them, but from the road, they just seemed to be apart of the landscape. When approached, Riff noticed something odd about the ground around it, but refused to give voice to his questions. Whatever was going on, Cain knew how to handle it, and this fact made Riff calm his nerves a little. One of the guards slung his sub-machine gun on a shoulder strap onto his shoulder, quietly lowering to grab a fake vine from the ground. Lifting said vine, the man pulled open a trap door revealing a set of stone steps into the ground. One guard entered and Cain followed, motioning Riff to follow close behind. The last guard stayed behind to close the door and keep watch.

The temperature dropped a few degrees as the three descended into the darkness. The guard switched his compact flashlight on and led the way to a wooden door. Once through it, Cain and Riff were stopped by another pair of men who demanded them to raise their arms and spread their legs. Cain gave a silent, subtle, reassuring nod to Riff who followed his actions. Riff was let go after they took his Derringer, but his eyes grew wide when he saw the small pile of weapons growing on the wooden table by the door. Two Derringers, a Glock 17 with magazines, four knives in holsters, four small vials of a liquid Riff was unsure of, and a King Cobra single action Colt revolver that he pulled from the holster on his side.

For once, Riff was unsure of what he was getting himself into.

"Alright, let's go. Time to shop," one of the guards said and motioned for the now seemingly harmless Cain and Riff to follow him. It was a bit of a trek, but once they passed through another two sets of doors, they made it into what looked like a showroom. To Cain, it was phenomenal, but Riff was worried that he'd bitten off a bit more than he could chew. Constantly, he found himself staring at the calm and collected Cain who seemed to be in a much more comfortable place.

"Cain, what are we here for?" Riff finally asked, looking to the black cases that were strewn across tables in the showroom.

"Guns," Cain stated plainly with a smirk as he approached a case on the table before him.

"Don't you have enough of those?" the silver-haired man asked in a whisper as he leaned close to the man. He watched as Cain took a gun called a Mini Master Black Widow from the formed foam of the case. It was tiny, like a Derringer.

"Not for me, Riff," he said in a matter of fact kind of way. "For you. Excuse me," he paused, looking to one of the guards that had brought them there. "How much is one with a fixed sight?"

"Four hundred sixty."

"Shit, I could get this for two fifty easily on Royston."

"But it would be one with the serial number scraped off, wouldn't it?" called a a female voice. "Mine are all straight from the assembly line. Never before touched by hands until it reaches my shop here."

"Drew Benjamin," Cain breathed with a small grin, noticing her smile towards him as she approached. A pair of guards followed close behind her. "I forgot you were the boss around here. How nice to see you." Drew wasn't the prettiest girl, but she was nice to look at and was a pleasant change with her red hair and freckles.

"Nice to see you, too, Cain. How is the family?"

He never hesitated to answer with a smile, "Running around like mad, as always. We've always been the busiest organization in London."

"Good! I'm glad to hear business is going well. Let's talk guns, shall we?" she asked, taking him by the arm and dragging him along. Riff found himself simply tailing them wondering if anything exciting was going to happen. He'd gotten himself on a small adrenaline high when he was told that he may have to get his gun by lock picking a suitcase and getting to the car as fast as he could, but nothing seemed to be out of place here and even the boss was a sweet, young lady named Drew.

"Cain," Drew called, taking him to a case with Glocks. "How about you buy one piece and I throw one in for free? My business is running low since we moved out here into the countryside, and I need these guns off my hands."

"Sure. I'll take the Black Widow, a Glock 17, and a Redhawk revolver."

"You sure know your guns, Cain Hargreaves," Drew muttered, pulling an empty black case from a shelf nearby and walking him and Riff back to their chosen guns. Once the three were in the case, Cain brought Riff over to the case to show them to him.

"Riff, you need to hold these before I buy them."

"Why?"

"To be sure you like them. If you don't like them, it'll be difficult to shoot and awkward to hold. Just like fucking a person you like." He was too blunt, Riff felt, but he supposed to an assassin it was a correct analogy. For a moment, he thought of how feminine Cain looked and pondered how Cain felt about that fact. It crossed his mind several times that he may have had to use his looks to do a certain task for a mission or something. Perhaps not, but maybe it could have happened. Maybe Cain used this analogy because it was out of experience. A sorrowful look passed his features as he stared at the younger man who looked the revolver over a few times. It hurt a little to think that such a young man who gave off such an innocent façade would have to give his body to get information or something of the such. In a way, Riff wanted to simply wrap his arms around him and tell him he'd never have to do that again, but he knew it was wrong to say in many ways and for many reasons it wasn't his place to do so.

He shook himself from his thoughts after seeing the gun held out to him. "Uh, alright," Riff nodded, taking the Redhawk that Cain held out. It was kind of heavy, but it was a comfortable weight in his hand.

"Well?"

"It's too heavy," Riff muttered, looking the gun up and down. The two men switched guns, leaving the Glock 17 in Riff's hands now. He nodded, liking the feel of the gun. "I like this one, Cain."

In an instant, a smile grew on the young man's face. It was always nice to talk about guns. He thought perhaps it was his sadistic ways showing through. "It's a Glock 17. I have one myself. Pretty much basic of the basics," Cain took the gun and set it in the case with the Black Widow. "We don't have time for you to shoot it here, so we'll have to practice somewhere else. Thank you, Drew. I'll also be buying a silencer," Cain said, turning to the woman and shaking her hand. "Riff will deal with the money," he stated, closing the case after placing a new silencer for the Glock into the case as well.

"What!" Riff barked, furrowing his brow until deep crinkles formed between his eyebrows. "You seriously think I'm made of money, don't you!"

Cain turned, a smirk on his face and case in his hand, "They're your guns." He gave a chuckle as he waited for the angered Riff to return from paying Drew. There was a tense silence between the two as they made their way back to the car. Cain thought it was nothing but funny making the other man pay for everything and occasionally had to stifle a chuckle at the others misfortune.

* * *

><p>With a sigh, both men unbuckled and stepped out of the car after it was parallel parked in front of the apartment building. Riff, who had driven from Grindlow back to the apartment, looked over the top of the car when he heard Cain thrust open the car door and scuffle quickly to the apartment.<p>

"Riff! Come quickly!" he called, looking off the side of the steps at Riff.

"What is it?" he asked, slamming his car door shut and made his way to Cain's side. He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the bleeding man in the younger male's arms. "Shit!" Riff hissed, following the thin trail of blood leading up the steps and to the man.

"Open the door. We need to get him in," Cain huffed, putting his hands underneath the bleeding one's arms and dragging him into the apartment.

"Agh! Cain, damnit!" the man yelled, groaning as he was dragged.

"Oscar," Cain breathed, "Oscar, what happened?"

"Cain, sir, I'm bleeding out. Can we- ugh!" he paused, grabbing his side, "Can we talk later?"

Cain nodded, looking to Riff who had returned from getting a couple towels from the bathroom. "Riff, can you help him?" He didn't notice him leave to the bathroom until he came back with an odd look in his eyes.

"Cain, we need to leave," he started, getting on his knees and attempting to clean up the blood from his wooden floors with the towels. "You fucking tell me to keep the gun on my ankle- then the gun shop in the woods- then all this blood-" he rambled, scrambling to clean the floor and glance out the open door. Riff was panicking. He was sure when he moved here to London that things would be different. But when it came to gangs and assassins, Riff was very surprised that he had been caught in the middle of all of it. For a moment, he wondered where he would have been if Cain hadn't showed up. He shoved the hands away from him that touched his shoulders, trying to calm him down. "I didn't want any of this!" he barked, elbowing Cain in the stomach who doubled over for a few minutes. Riff rambled on and on, smearing the blood across the floor in a frenzy. A growl rose from his throat when his hair was pulled.

Cain, feeling he needed to get a hand on the situation, laid said hands on Riff. He tangled one hand in the others hair to pull him close and the other hand on his cheek to hold him still. A silence fell upon the three of them, or at least what silence there was with Oscar groaning on the floor, as Cain held the silver-haired man in a kiss. An arguing mouth was silenced by the lips of the assassin who pulled away almost reluctantly. Riff stared him down, holding his breath for a moment after the two pulled away from each other.

"Are you okay now?" Cain asked, looking to his hand where he'd smeared blood on the other man's cheek.

Riff swallowed, letting himself breathe finally. He nodded with an, "Uh huh," and looked to the injured man on his floor. "L-Let's take care of you," he stated, kneeling beside Oscar to tear at his shirt.

"Whoa now. Just 'cause you kissed that guy does not mean I'm givin-" he paused his awful joke to groan, "Does not mean I'm giving you more."

"Oscar, be quiet. This is Riff," Cain said quietly, looking to the doctor to see if he could help. "Is there anything I can do?"

"Well," Riff started, seeing that the wound was a through and through, "I need towels, all of them. And bring me my bag from my room. The black one in my closet."

"I'm on it," he said, making his way to the bedroom to find the bag.

"You'll be fixed up in no time… Oscar, was it?" Riff asked, pressing one of the towels he had brought to clean the floor with to the bleeding hole.

"Yeah," the man replied, holding a bloody hand out to him. "I'm Oscar. I work… well _worked_ for the Hargreaves." The two men shook hands quickly with a chuckle.

"How did you find Cain?" the doctor asked, taking the bag from Cain when he returned.

"Let's just say a friend of a friend. The homeless men are working men, y'know," he joked, looking to Cain with a grin. The young man knelt beside his friend with a worried look.

"We're safe here. Riff will have you better soon," Cain muttered, combing the blood-soaked hair from the man's forehead.

"That's nice. How's that sister o' your's?" he breathed, trying to make small talk until he fell unconscious on the floor. Cain disregarded the question and looked to the doctor before him. They shared a small, awkward moment of silence before they went to work, the younger man quickly becoming his makeshift assistant for the surgery.

* * *

><p>Cain chewed his cleaned fingernails in a nervous way as he sat on the counter of Riff's small kitchen. Riff, who had just finished washing the last of the blood off his hands, rolled his sleeves back down only to give up buttoning them and shove them back up to his elbows. It was a long surgery as Oscar had awoken and panicked several times before falling out of it again and tearing the stitches that Riff had made in the process.<p>

"I don't know when he'll wake up again," Riff stated quietly, looking to Cain in a nervous way. He sighed through his nose when he thought about when he himself had panicked at the front door and elbowed the other in the stomach. Then he recalled his hair being pulled… then the kiss. It was an odd chain of events, but it happened, and Riff had to constantly tell himself he couldn't make it un-happen. He couldn't hide it either.

"Come here," Cain whispered with a small wave of his hand. He hopped off the counter as the nervous doctor walked the several feet between the bedroom door he was standing at to before the handsome young man standing by the table. Only now did he notice their height difference. Cain was about a foot shorter than himself, and this made him want to chuckle. Now more than ever, Cain looked feminine and innocent because of his small stature. He looked to the clean, pale hands that tugged his shirt sleeves down and fixed the button on the cuff. For a moment, the thought to stop Cain from what he was doing and kiss him right where he stood crossed his mind. But as he went to gather confidence to attempt the feat, the shorter male had finished what he was doing and was smoothing the wrinkles from the other's shirt sleeves. "There," Cain breathed, looking up to meet Riff's stare. "What?" he asked with a curious gaze.

"Umm…" he started, trying to think of what to say, "H-How's your stomach?" he stuttered.

"Hurts," Cain stated, "But nothing I can't handle. How's your head?"

"Kind of sore," he nodded, rubbing his own scalp a moment with gentle fingers.

"Hah, good," the young man nodded. A tense silence grew between them until Cain spoke up. "I'm sorry for… y'know…"

"Cain," Riff sighed, wanting nothing more than to hug him and tell him it was alright, "Please don't apologize for something like that."

"Why not?"

"Because-"

"Because it was weird and shouldn't be brought up? Or maybe because I'm a guy? Is that it?" Cain asked, starting a small nervous ramble himself. "Is it because of Oscar in there? I didn't know he was alive. I didn't know he was going to come here. I understand you didn't want to have anything to do with the gangs and stuff around here but-"

A kiss ceased the rambling young man. Riff, grabbing the other's shoulders and pulling himself to him, pressed his lips to Cain's in order to make him stop. With a grin, Riff pulled away and spoke in a whisper, "Any other day, I'm sure it would take putting a gun to your head to get you to talk… Now you won't stop." Cain sighed at the statement, batting the hands away from him.

"So… Why can't I apologize for that kiss?" Cain asked, staring up at Riff.

"Because _I _refuse to apologize for this one," Riff replied as he leaned down, letting his lips touch the others for a moment when he felt Cain hesitate. It was awkward and shaky but hungry and heated all the same as the two men pressed their lips and bodies together in the kitchen.

"Fuck! Cain!" Oscar yelled from the bedroom. Cain pulled away from Riff, who was placing small kisses to the corner of the man's lips. He sighed, stopping the doctor and chuckling.

"Your patient is calling," Cain stated quietly before Riff left him alone in the kitchen. 'Once Oscar is better, we'll be out of your hair, Riff,' he thought, hopping up onto the counter to sit in his previous spot. 'I have no right to take your safety from you, Riff. If Oscar is still alive, then who knows who else is still around. I can't take the chance of getting you killed.' He nodded to himself in a confident way, knowing what he had to do. It was for his own good, but he decided he would teach the other to use the gun he'd purchased that day to be sure he was able to take care of himself.

He gave a small, nervous grin to the doctor as he was approached.

'Riff is safer without me,' he thought, 'So that's how it should stay.' He was greeted with a kiss that he nearly failed to return because of his swimming thoughts.

Right now, Riff wasn't safe.

* * *

><p><em>To be continued…<em>


	3. No Going Back

This is really late. I know. And shorter than the other two, but I felt where I left off was cliffhanger enough.

I did not create Godchild nor do I make money off of the fantasies between the characters in this fanfiction.

Do enjoy. :D

* * *

><p>Cain hummed his displeasure as he sat quietly on Riff's kitchen counter. It was normal for him to be sitting there. Riff had asked him before why he liked to sit there and was only able to get a small grumble in response. Because the kitchen was 'L' shaped, Cain was able to watch what was outside the small window above the sink from his spot on the counter. His favorite time to sit there, though, was when the other man was doing the dishes. Not only was it somewhat relaxing and the two constantly had a conversation going, but he was able to watch Riff's back. And not in the way of "I'll watch you're back, man," but as in watching the crude shoulder blades and smooth back muscles flex and move beneath the light blue dress shirt he wore tucked into his jeans. He'd offered to help with the dishes several times, but Riff refused to let the young man to even come near the sink. It was obvious Riff didn't like anyone else to clean the house but himself, and it made Cain feel bad that he wasn't of any help. The three days that passed went by slowly and uneventfully, leaving the young assassin sprawled out on the couch watching TV.<p>

Ah, the kiss. Ever since the kiss, Cain had found himself in positions he wasn't sure he wanted to be in. Of course the doctor was handsome and charming, but every time he was enveloped in a hug, which Riff had grown accustomed to doing when he didn't want a kiss, the young man felt threatened and trapped. He figured it was because of being an assassin trained to get out of situations where he was trapped instead of encouraging them. Unfortunately for him, the reasons for his jumpy reactions towards Riff were deeper than he would expect.

Cain knew he was being jumpy and skiddish when the other man made moves on him, and thankfully, Riff took his jumps and hesitations as if he was being shy. It made him feel worse, to be honest. He hated that he couldn't return Riff's feelings, and he was unsure why the other liked him in the first place.

Oscar, on the other hand, had found himself jabbing jokes about the two every chance he got, and was successful at getting a glare from Cain every time he did. Oscar was able to move on his own within the first day, regaining his strength quickly and moving into the kitchen to sit, eat, and talk with the other two men.

"Y'know, Riff," Oscar started, pointing his fork to the other man. They sat in silence at the dining room table for dinner that night until Oscar spoke, "We need a doctor like you."

"What do you mean 'we'?" Riff asked with a curious stare.

"The organization. Or we would have needed you. But I'm planning on starting an all new group with Cain here. Whatta ya say?" the man pried, staring intently at the doctor.

"I don't know," he replied, shaking his head once. "I mean, I've got my job at the hospital-"

"I'll pay you double."

"Alright… Who would I be working on?" he asked, almost trying to get out of the question. He decided to let himself see his options before he threw the chance out, but he also realized this was an easy way to keep an eye on Cain to make sure he was safe.

"Anyone. Especially those who aren't able to get into hospitals because of their records."

"So… criminals."

"Hey, don't throw it out," he blurted, trying to show the man the bright side of the proposition. "You worked on me and Cain, and we're criminals. That can be a starting point for our company, right Cain?"

"I have to give it to him, Riff," Cain started, shrugging lightly. "It sounds like a damn good deal. You get paid twice as much. Oscar and I get freelance jobs in the underground. And we all do it at a safe distance from London."

"So what you're saying," Riff paused, setting his fork down on his plate and trying to straighten out his thoughts, "You're saying we drop everything here, we leave London, you set me up with work as a criminal doctor, you guys get to freelance kill people, and we're supposed to be safe from people who may find out that your family's organization has fallen? On top of that, we could all be arrested for aiding criminals, murder, and whatever else you guys do?" The doctor stood with a frown, shoving his chair back with the back of his knees, and excusing himself to the living room. The apartment wasn't big enough to stalk off somewhere private. For now, the bedroom was Oscars and even on the couch Riff wasn't going to get any alone time. He'd given Cain the couch when Oscar dropped into their laps, so technically the living room was his.

"He's pissed…" Cain sighed, finishing the rest of his food. Perhaps, this was what he needed to get to do something for the doctor. He stood, taking his plate, Riff's, and Oscar's, and sat them beside the sink. He filled the sink with hot water, poured in some of the liquid soap sitting in the bottle close by, and slid the plates and forks into the hot bath. It was odd washing dishes, but he reminded himself it was a good thing. He didn't want to bother Riff when he was pissed. Unsure of what would happen if he tried to talk to him, he let him be and finished the dishes before taking Oscar into his room to sleep.

It was ten-thirty at night when Cain was finally able to stop. The kitchen was cleaned, the dishes were washed, and Oscar was asleep.

"Riff," Cain choked out, cleared his throat, and tried again, "Riff."

"What?" the doctor, relaxed back on the couch, barked through his teeth as he flipped through the channels on the TV.

"I've finished cleaning," he stated quietly, worried he'd get yelled at. He wasn't sure why, but he felt that getting yelled at by Riff would have been worse than being whipped by his father. His scars burned a little when the thought came to his mind.

Riff looked to the young man with an angry glance, but let his anger fade quickly when he saw the other's stomach, his shirt damp from the dish water along with his hands. Now he was angry at himself. He made Cain do the cleaning, and he hated that. After a moment of staring each other down, Riff scooted over on the couch and patted the seat beside him. "There's a movie on."

Cain took the invitation, seating himself comfortably beside the other man. He hissed lightly when he tried to fold his formerly injured leg underneath him and it pulled at the stitches in the gash.

"I'm sorry," Riff breathed, looking over to the other. "I shouldn't have gotten so angry at you and Oscar. I've just… had to move several times already just to get this job and… Well, I thought London was my last stop."

"I understand," Cain nodded, meeting the steely-grey gaze with his own. "I just hoped," he paused, staring down at his hands and wringing them together to get them warmed back up, "I could be of some help to you. My father… he always gave me missions that meant nothing which inadvertently meant that I meant nothing. Well, I've never been good for anything besides being a back to whip."

"That's not true," Riff whispered, a genuine look of concern crossing his features. His fingers played with the buttons on the remote to the TV as he spoke, "You're really good at taking control of stressful situations and you always know what to do. And you know more about London than I think any common person would ever know."

"I know as much as the common petty thief, Riff," Cain grinned.

"You've got an amazing tolerance to pain," he tried, grinning at the other.

"You did pull a bullet from my shoulder without me screaming. I'll give you that one," he nodded, smiling wide. It was nice to talk like this. It was a nice bickering and "poking fun at" type of conversation, with just a hint of flirty gestures thrown in.

Riff moved closer, facing the other man, "Could I check on your stitches? I might need to change the bandages again just to be sure there isn't any infection." For some reason, to both Riff and Cain, these words came out as a small flirting session, as if he was using his occupation as a doctor to get to touch him.

"Oh. Yeah, of course," Cain nodded, pulling the still-damp, black T-shirt up and off, not realizing until after the shirt was off, that he himself was flirting unconsciously. 'Shit…' the male thought, wanting to smack himself when Riff was hesitant to touch him, 'Should've been a little more subtle…' Riff took his time unwrapping the bandages from the male torso and shoulder before him. His fingers were gentle on Cain's skin as they pressed down on the healing wound to check for any pain.

"Does it hurt at all?"

"No, not much anymore." Cain shook his head lightly, letting his gaze explore the other man's neck and collarbone. 'I told Oscar I'd talk to him about going with us… This is going pretty well, I'd say. He's not angry, he's touching me. And I'll admit, I'm very attracted. This could be easier than I thought.' Earlier, when Cain had been left alone with Oscar in the kitchen, Oscar had told him that they needed Riff on their side and for their company. Since Cain already had a foot in the door with getting the doctor to like him and kiss and hug him, he thought he was the best candidate for the action. Did Cain think it was wrong to sleep with the doctor to get him to work with them? The answer he told Oscar when he asked that same question: "I've done it before."

"Do you want me to put new bandages on it or do you think it'll be okay?" Riff asked the other, lifting his gaze to Cain's.

"You tell me, doctor," he smirked, trying to have as much fun as he could. He loved flirting, and when it was with such a handsome man, it was even better. "You're the expert."

Riff chuckled with a nod. He wanted to kiss him, hold him in his arms. This showed on his face more than he realized, and was startled when Cain leaned forward to whisper, "You could kiss it," seemingly in a playful, joking manner. Riff gave in, leaning into the lips that accepted the kiss so eagerly. When he pulled away after a few moments of one hungry kiss after another, the younger man chuckled, lifting a hand to touch the other's cheek. "I meant my shoulder… but this is nicer."

Riff, who had started the kiss, pulled away in a hurry. "Maybe I should check the stitches on your leg, too," he muttered, leaning back to let the other move.

"Are you trying to get a free strip tease, or something?" he joked with a chuckle.

Riff gave a look as if he wasn't amused by the joke. He hadn't thought about that. His instincts as a doctor told him to check all the stitches he'd done in one swoop. There was no harm in asking to see them seeing as Cain was the patient and should abide by what the doctor said. "No… I just need to estimate when I need to take them out," Riff replied, cocking an eyebrow.

Cain huffed a sigh, bothered by the doctor not wanting a little strip tease. It sounded like fun. He stood, undoing the borrowed belt Riff had given him from the pair of jeans, also borrowed from the doctor, his eyes glancing over at the man on the couch every now and again. A smirk slowly curled his lips as he shimmied out of the jeans, letting them fall to the ground to allow him to stand clad in nothing but, yet again, borrowed boxers before the other. "There ya go. Stitches," he muttered, letting the cut lay exposed to the other.

Riff laid gentle hands on his thigh, looking the injury over and touching the healing stitches with his fingertips. His hands itched to touch him more, to caress every part of his body. His steely eyes scanned up and down the well muscled thigh. His eyes skipped over the over-sized boxers attempting to cling to the thin hips and let his gaze trail up the toned abs and chest. Two thin and flexible pieces of leather made up the straps to an old gun holster that wrapped around his chest and over his left shoulder, the gun dangling in its place by Cain's ribcage. Only then did he realize he was sitting before such a handsome man who was standing, and looking rather uncomfortable, half nude in the open. Riff forced his cheeks not to burn at the gorgeous subject before him as he met Cain's gaze. "Does it hurt at all?"

"Only when I sit wrong. You touching it doesn't hurt," he shrugged, watching Riff take his hands away and leaning back. He wished almost the same as Riff, wanting to lean down into him and force those gentle hands back onto his body. He reminded himself of his task to get Riff on his side, but he worried doing something like this would force his feelings to overwhelm his mind. He wanted to be held by the man, and he knew this meant trouble for when he woke up in the morning beside a handsome, naked doctor. He was to sleep with him, not make love, and gain his trust. He'd then take that trust with all his strength and hold tight to it until Riff was willing to work for them. Though he knew his place, Cain felt it was wrong to want to have these feelings toward a man, then use them against him.

"That's good," Riff nodded, watching the young man sit close beside him, only a second before his lips were captured by Cain's. Feeling the other's breaths quicken after he pulled away, the doctor laid half-lidded eyes on the features of the face so close to his own. Cain lifted a hand to rest on the crook of Riff's neck, holding him close as he whispered, "You've done so much for me, Riffael…"

"You are in no debt to-"

"Yes, I am. I owe you my life," he whispered with a small smile. "I owe you mine and Oscar's. And for the rest of my life I'll never forget it. But let me…" he paused, lowering his other hand to stroke once, roughly, up Riff's thigh, stopping close to his crotch to squeeze gently on the well-toned muscle of his upper thigh. He gave a small grin when he watched the man's mouth gape slightly, allowing a small sound to escape his throat when his leg was squeezed. "Let me do something for you… I feel helpless, useless, just sitting around your home. I have nothing to lose, Riffael, only gain, so you don't have to worry about me. You know my job, I'm known as a serviceman. I do what I'm told… I know," he paused once more, leaning a little bit closer to the doctor, barely touching his lips to the other's, "that doctors don't get to have many days off. If it were any other day, you'd be at the hospital on call right now, wouldn't you?"

"Yes…" Riff breathed, leaning in to steal a kiss but was denied with a smile, only to smile widely himself at the playfulness.

"So take advantage of tonight…" Cain whispered, finally letting Riff take his lips as his hands worked their way to the other's shirt to remove it. It was easy, and he had it sliding off the firm shoulders of the man before him in mere moments. The younger male let his teeth nip at Riff's bottom lip, tugging his mouth to his own whenever the other tried to pull away. Cain did his best to ignore the hand snaking its way up his thigh, squeezing it as he had done to the man before.

A grunt flew from Riff's throat when he was shoved back onto the couch, his shoulder blades hitting the arm of the furniture as he slammed against it. Cain took control, as he normally would in situations, shifting himself into Riff's lap to lean forward and feel his growing erection rub lightly against the other's thigh. A moan escaped him and forced a smirk to curl Riff's lips. With his training in learning to be as provocative and sexually arousing a man could be to another man, Cain had no problem knowing what to do, but when it came to the heated doctor before him, he felt powerless. Doctors knew every part of the human body, every place a person could be sensitive or vulnerable, and this scared the assassin.

"What's wrong, Cain?" the man asked, shifting underneath the other's hips for a moment.

'Just act like your nervous… Which won't be too hard since you already are,' Cain thought to himself, his cheeks burning a bright red as he leaned back. Lifting a hand, he touched his own chest with his fingertips in a nervous way as he shifted his gaze away. "I umm… I know it's sudden, but…" he paused, lifting his eyes to stare into Riff's steely pools, "I want you… in me."

Riff felt his heart skip a beat before it's pace quickened in his chest. "If you don't mind me asking, why so soon?"

"Because…" he let a pause pass between them to reach down, slipping his hand underneath the waistband of the jeans and boxers Riff was wearing and touching the firm erection with his fingers, "Doctors know a lot about the human body… so you should be able to find my sensitive spots easily. At least… I want you to try. If you don't find them," he shrugged lightly, smirking down at the other, "Then you can always try again later."

It was an overwhelming explanation that left Riff's mouth agape, staring up at the younger male atop him. He gave a nod and a grin, realizing that perhaps Cain understood that he hadn't had sex in quite a long time due to his duties as a doctor. It was Cain's way of expressing his concern for his well being, maybe, and Riff was willing to take that opportunity. "If it's what you want, Cain…"

"It is, Riffael," he whispered, smiling and leaning forward to take the other's lips in an open-mouth kiss.

"Just Riff," the doctor whispered during a small break in their kisses. Cain mumbled inaudibly as his teeth nipped and scraped against Riff's neck, leaving marks on his jaw line and throat. He grinned against the neck he was biting on when hands trailed up his legs and fingertips dug lightly into the backs of his thighs, forcing him further up so he sat on his erection. He let out a breathy moan when he felt himself grind up against Cain's rear, the one atop him responding in a similar manner. Cain had the other's pants undone in only a few seconds, taking no time to tug them down his hips and pull them down about mid-thigh just before he managed to struggle his way out of his own boxers. Underneath the boxers, a set of three small knives rested silently in the straps of their holster on his upper thigh with one strap wrapping around his waist and the other high up around his thigh. He caressed the boxer-covered erection, sliding the waistband of the boxers down to reveal the appendage and moving it to angle his entrance over the firm cock. He was hovering over him, one knee on either side of Riff's hips. "W-Wait…" Riff stopped him, fingertips digging into the man's hips to hold him. "I don't want to hurt you. Let's take our time…"

Cain wanted to slap him, but played it cool, blushing a dark red as he acted as nervous as he felt. "I've… I've done this before, Riff. It's not that big of a deal. I've been with men who never gave my well being the light of day and I was fine."

"I'm not like those men," he whispered, watching as Cain's chest moved silently and steadily along with his fast-paced breaths. "I'll treat you differently." And just as much as he wanted to slap him earlier, Cain wanted nothing more than to cry at the statement. He felt his eyes burn, watching the doctor sit up underneath himself, falling silent as Riff kissed his chest. "Cain," Riff whispered, looking up at him. "How do you want to be treated?"

With a small grin, Cain realized he'd destroyed his intent on only sleeping with Riff and not making love. It was inevitable; Riff had stolen his small, bruised, scarred heart.

"Like a gentleman," was the assassin's response.

"Then let me treat you like one," he whispered, taking his middle and ring finger into his mouth to cover them in saliva, attempting to wet them down as well as he could. He didn't want to hurt the other, but without lube it was hard to do anything properly like he wanted to. Cain, refusing to not take part in this, took the hand Riff was working on into both of his, pulling the fingers into his mouth and swirling his hot tongue about the digits. The doctor had hesitated, but decided it was okay for him to at least help out. He smirked lightly when he lowered his other hand to Cain's erection, pumping him slowly to taunt him as his thumb ran over the tip.

"Ngh…" Cain hummed into the fingers in his mouth as pleasure crept up his spine. "Hah… Hurry up," he breathed, letting the other have his hand back to slide it underneath his rear. His body wracked in a shiver fit when his entrance was touched by a wet fingertip, teasing him before entering his body. The pain was nothing, as he had previously said it would be, and he was sliding himself down onto the finger before Riff was even ready to start moving it. After only moments, Cain had loosened himself enough for another finger that entered without warning. Instead of an expected hiss or scream, Riff listened to the prolonged moan that spilled from the other man. Cain, embarrassed from his expression of his pleasure, lifted a hand to bite down on his knuckle, his cheeks burning gently as he stared at the doctor. He lifted his other arm and wrapped it about the male shoulders before him, holding on to keep himself from falling back. A third finger surprised him, and this time he let himself give a sharp inhale, hissing lightly through his teeth. It was unexpected but he took it with ease, relaxing into it.

"Can I put it in?" Riff asked in a whisper, planting a tiny kiss on Cain's neck just below his ear.

"Y-Yeah…" he breathed. After a moment, the fingers slid out, causing an empty, awkward, aching feeling in his rear. He shifted so his legs were wrapped around Riff's stomach, holding himself up by wrapping his arms tight about the other man's shoulders. "Ahh!" Cain moaned, feeling the hot erection slide into him as his breaths hitched. It'd been so long, he'd forgotten what it felt like to have someone inside him. Only in his nightmares did he see and feel the older, horrible men that he was forced to sleep with due to his occupation. Riff, who had grown somewhat quiet, watched the other's expressions and waiting for when it was safe to move.

"I'm gonna move now…" the doctor whispered, leaning forward after Cain nodded and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips. Placing both hands on the male's hips, Riff held the other still as he rocked his hips, thrusting upward slowly. A moan escaped the both of them as the erection grinded inside of Cain. Slowly, this was repeated, the doctor taking his time so as to tease and taunt the assassin with every patient thrust.

'He's going so slow… It's tormenting,' he thought, feeling his mind grow hazier as it continued. It was so different from the other times he'd had sex with a man. It was slow, steady, controlled, unlike the times with the older men he'd been forced to sleep with. In the heat of it all, as Riff had quickened his pace slightly, Cain's thighs flexed around the other's abdomen, forcing himself hard down onto the erection beneath him unintentionally. "Ahh!" he gave a pleasured cry, opening his eyes to stare quietly at Riff who, through some heated lust, shifted his legs until they were underneath himself and leaned forward. Cain's scarred back softly met the couch, the heat of his body radiating off of himself and bouncing back to heat his skin more than he was comfortable with.

Riff thrust deep, reaching a hand back to grab the man's calf to pull it up for better access. He stopped, Cain huffing after a moan and looking back up at him to see what was wrong. Riff was looking at the other's ankle which had the two shot Derringer pistol strapped to it. Just above it was another strap holding two thin, short knives. Counting every weapon visible, Riff stated a, "Seven." He paused, looking down at Cain with a shake of his head. "You have seven weapons on you…" Sliding the dress shirt off his body and tossing it onto the floor, he examined the aching, sweating body of the man beneath him.

"There's a couple more you haven't seen," Cain smirked, reaching forward and grabbing the other's wrist in attempt to tell him he wanted him to start moving again.

"Who the hell are you?" the doctor asked with a chuckle and leaned back down, his elbow resting on the couch beside Cain's ribcage with the gun at his side touching his hand as he moved. Planting a small kiss on the assassin's lips, Riff thrust deeper, forcing himself as far into the other as he could in one thrust. He felt Cain's back arc, pressing his stomach against Riff's in his pleasure as he moaned.

"No ordinary petty thief," he joked with a chuckle. Arms shot up to wrap around the man's shoulders, pulling the other down close to his mouth. After a few moments of moaning, Cain gathered his strength enough to bark a, "Harder!" and moan once more against the mouth that left a small kiss upon his lips.

"As you wish, milord," Riff joked, letting a breathy moan escape his lips as he did as he was told. He rolled his hips, thrusting as hard as he could into the man below him.

"Ngh! Ah-!" Cain let his sounds escape into the stuffy, humid atmosphere about them as a small, sensitive spot was assaulted. "Riff!"

Realizing what he'd done, the doctor grinned, glad he was able to find at least one sensitive spot as Cain had asked him to do. Without warning, he thrust hard and fast into the other man, hitting the spot as many times as he could. He groaned when he felt his lower stomach pool with heat, knowing that he was reaching his limit. It was hazy as the two intertwined their bodies and sounds, the assassin spilling his seed onto their stomachs after succumbing to the glorious shocks of pleasure that wracked his body and the doctor filling the man below him with his release after Cain had let himself climax, knowing he had done his job.

* * *

><p>"I need a shower," Cain breathed, laying lazily in the naked doctor's arms about half an hour after they'd finished.<p>

"I can carry you." Riff sat up, lifting himself from the other and seeing the slick, sticky white on their stomachs that had started to dry. "I might need one, too," he chuckled.

"It wouldn't hurt," the other nodded with a content grin. It was the first time, in quite a long time, that he'd had sex that wasn't forced. Though he was used to it being rough, the gentle touches and thrusts of the doctor were gladly accepted. The slow, patient touches kept his body aching for more even in the afterglow of the sex. Riff stood from the couch and bent down, Cain protesting for only a minute or two as he was lifted from the couch bridal style and taken quietly to the bathroom. The younger man's knees buckled underneath him, nearly falling to the linoleum floor of the bathroom but was caught by Riff. He hadn't realized that his body was going to be weak after such an event. The doctor sat him down on the edge of the bathtub before turning on the water. Kneeling before the man, he reached to him and undid the straps of all the gun and knife holsters on his body one by one. With a cocked brow, Riff looked to the small pile of weapons on the floor beside them, and whispered, "How do you wear these all the time?"

"Just used to them I guess. It actually feels really weird not having them on right now," Cain replied with a shrug.

"Well," he gave up trying to understand how he wasn't bothered by them, "Hop in the shower. I'll wash you off."

"Please, be my guest."

"You mean manservant, don't you?"

"Yeah, what was that you called me earlier?" he smirked, standing on wobbly legs before he was guided into the bathtub.

"Milord," Riff muttered with a grin, stepping into the bathtub behind Cain.

The gun case was open on the coffee table in the living room, Cain sitting on the floor in front of it with Riff's new Glock 17 in his hands. It was night already, but the assassin was wide awake, having chose to sleep in while the doctor ran a few errands. Cain sat silent as he cleaned the gun thoroughly, taking it apart and cleaning each piece as he assembled it back together. He'd taken his shirt off when the apartment had grown too stuffy for him to be comfortable, and was sitting with his own Glock 17 in its holster at his ribcage exposed for all the world to see.

"Is that my gun?" Riff asked, curiosity forcing him to approach.

"Yup," he replied with a nod but refused to take his eyes off of the weapon in his hand. He watched the other sit close beside him, watching what he was doing with curious eyes.

"Hey," the doctor started, lifting a hand to rub the back of his neck in a nervous way, "I was thinking… Y'know, maybe fate has a way of telling people they need to do things that weren't planned by throwing a wrench in their previous plans. I was thinking… that I would go with you guys."

Cain, astonished that his job at sleeping with the man had worked, felt his eyes burn lightly with tears. His heart pulled slightly, falling deep into his stomach. Riff was going to risk his life and freedom to help two extraordinary strangers with their criminal endeavors. He leaned over and pressed his lips to Riff's who eagerly accepted the kiss. "You don't have to."

"I want to."

"Why? Why risk your safety here in your little apartment with your secure job?"

"For you. I felt like we really connected last night," Riff muttered quietly, a grin curling his lips, "And I feel like I was put on this earth to protect you. I want nothing more than to see you succeed in what you want to do. But I beg you, let me still go with you."

"Riff…" Cain breathed, blinking away the tears. Though his shyness was fake, and though the feelings that Cain had for the doctor were only skin deep before they had sex, the tears he felt welling up in his eyes were as real as the gun in his hand. He felt there was no use arguing with the man, seeing as it was the plan all along to get him to go with them, and nodded, agreeing quietly to take him with them. "There's no going back. There's no, 'I didn't ask for this, get me out of here, I won't tell anyone about this,' sort of thing."

"I know," Riff nodded.

For once, Cain wanted to say no. For once, he wanted to tell Riff to go back to the kitchen and think about it some more. After a moment of this, he realized what he'd done. He'd made love to the man, not had sex, and had formed this connection to him. There was no way around it, he had thought to himself, thinking of how the night would have gone if Cain had completely taken over during their sex or not had sex at all. Riff wouldn't be sitting here asking if he could still go with them. Riff wanted to work for them as their doctor and help with their business, and that's what he and Oscar wanted and needed. But now, after realizing that he'd made love to such a wonderful man, Cain wanted to kick himself. He had dragged the man into this, had made love to him, and he got what he wanted. His change of heart pulled him in every direction, telling him to make the other stay and live his life, but his gut instinct as an assassin told him to take the opportunity and run with it. They needed a doctor, and that was how it was.

"Alright…" Cain whispered, not even bothering to fake a smile as he turned back to the gun in hand.

"So you're goin' with us, huh?" Oscar asked, standing several feet behind the two to eavesdrop. After a few moments, he stuck his hand out to the doctor who took it with ease and shook it with a firm handshake. "Welcome to the club, Riff."

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><p><em>To be continued…<em>


	4. Nothing Personal

To the few fans I have of this fanfiction, thank you for being so kind as to review and talk with me a little! I know there's only a few of you, but I'm doing this for you. Plus it's rather entertaining. I promise to bring more of the story into it in the next chapter but this was just a somewhat filler even though the part with Riff's stuff is pretty important to the story. I love you guys! :D I'm also in college right now and it's taken me little by little to get this chapter done, so the next one won't be for a while I'm sure.

**By the way, I like reviews. Not only do they make me feel warm and fuzzy inside, it also helps me to determine whether I should continue this story or move onto to other things. Other things to come once this one is finished, though I don't see an end in sight just yet so perhaps those other things could be little in betweens when I only have the time to write something short, are a Persona 4 fanfiction between Kanji and Souji, possibly just a bunch of fun little one shots because they are adorable, and a Kuroshitsuji (Black Butler for those of you who are new to it) in an alternate universe but as in either old times like 1930s to 1950s era or a present day gothic/alternative rock band where Sebastian is the lead singer of a band and Ciel is the head of a toy company making action figures and merchandise for said band. It seems the latter is more developed than the others, so expect that one to be my next big work. **

I did not create Godchild nor do I make money off of the fantasies portrayed in the following fanfiction. Please enjoy, AND REVIEW. :D

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><p>Chapter 4: Nothing Personal<p>

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><p>"You sure you wanna do this, sir?" Oscar asked, standing with a pair of scissors behind a shirtless Cain sitting in one of Riff's dining room chairs in the kitchen.<p>

"Oscar!"

"Sir…" he muttered dejectedly, cringing at the man's raised tone.

"Fucking do it before I stab you."

"Yes sir…"

"Thank you," Cain said quietly as he felt a comb go through his hair. It was long, nearly down to his shoulders, and the three of them decided it would be best to dye or cut hair for their new company so as not to compromise themselves if someone were to recognize them. The leader of the three refused to dye his hair but was willing enough to let one of them cut it. Little did the other two know, Cain was horrified of having his hair cut by Oscar. And for the first time in a long while, he was nervous and insecure about what he looked like with his hair cut in front of someone he liked. Riff had agreed to dye his hair, much to Cain's dismay, a dark brown. It was going to be a drastic change for both of them.

"So when do I get to wash this shit out of my hair?" Riff asked, sitting shirtless on his hands in a dining room chair on the other side of the table.

"'Bout twenty minutes. It's only been in your hair for five," Oscar stated, combing the black hair before him as he chopped off the locks until it was only about an inch and a half in length from Cain's head.

"Ugh…" the doctor groaned, wanting to scratch the itch from his scalp that formed at the base of his skull.

It took a little while, but Cain's hair had been chopped off to a nice length. The assassin sighed, not wanting to see how he looked with short hair, and ran his fingers through it. It was all gone. "It feels weird. Lighter."

"I think I did a good job," Oscar said proudly as he nodded and set the scissors on the table. He looked to the watch that clung to his wrist and motioned towards the bathroom. "You guys can go wash off now. Riff, you can wash out your hair."

"Oh, thank goodness," he huffed, reaching out and grabbing Cain's hand. "C'mon. You can help."

"I'll get dye on my hands…" the younger man sighed, following behind him without a fight. He turned the water on and knelt beside the tub, "Kneel."

"Yes sir," Riff snickered, kneeling beside the tub close to the facet.

"Oh, hush, and get your head down there."

"There you go again! You're so naughty, Cain!" the doctor laughed, getting a splash of water to the face when he saw the man's cheeks grow pink.

Cain took the time to think as he was washing the dye from the older man's hair, rubbing his fingertips into his scalp to get it off his skin. 'I don't want to see his hair…' he thought, wanting to go back to about an hour or two to savor the sight of the handsome silver haired man. He was the only one, besides Oscar, who would remember him with silver hair. He knew it was a small, insignificant thing, but in all honesty, Cain had fallen for the silver haired Riff, not the one with the fake, brown hair he now donned. Perhaps this was a realization that it felt awful to see something so fake. He wanted to kick himself, seeing how badly he must have made others feel when they knew he was faking something. When he faked a smile, did everyone fall for it and think he was okay? Or were they getting the uncomfortable churn of their stomachs when they new it was fake? Was that how Oscar felt when Cain pushed him away to go to his room and take care of himself after he was whipped everyday, stating he was fine and that he was used to it? Perhaps.

"Want to just take a shower?"

"I guess. If it'll be easier. You're kind of drowning me over here," Riff muttered, reaching a hand over the edge of the tub to wipe the water from his eyes. He combed his wet hair back with his hand, feeling the slick hair dye on his fingers and grimacing. "Damnit, it's everywhere…" he breathed, washing it off his hand in the tub.

"Sorry…" he whispered, pulling away and letting the other stand. He sat quietly on the floor, brushing the strands of hair off that clung to his shoulders and chest. Riff stripped in front of him, not even bothered to do so, and stepped into the hot shower. "This hair is making me itch…" he grumbled louder than he thought it was going to come out.

"Then get in here," Riff stated, being rather blunt as he opened the shower curtain a little to look down at the man sitting on the floor. He gave a smirk, "Go shut the door. There's room for two in here, but not three."

A smirk curled Cain's lips, standing up smoothly and striding over to close the door. In only a few moments he was out of his clothes, Riff leaning against the shower wall with his shoulder to watch as Cain stripped. It was almost cute how Cain reached back to the back of his thigh, undoing the strap that held the knives to his hip. The pile of weapons appeared once again since a few nights ago when they first slept together. Each one was accounted for: a Derringer with ammo, six different knives, and a Glock 17. He stood silent for a moment, his hands clasped together unconsciously in front of his privates as his fingers played with each other in a nervous way. "Umm…"

"Hm?" Riff hummed, looking up from the man's body to his face. He was so distracting.

"Are you going to make me stand out here the whole time or do I get to take a shower, too?" Cain asked, feeling goosebumps creep up his back and down his arms.

"Sorry!" the doctor exclaimed, moving over and holding a hand out to the other. "Come on in." Cain took the hand that guided him into the hot shower. It was somewhat cramped, but there was enough room for them to stand facing each other. Riff stood under the water, turning towards it to wash the rest of the dye from his hair. It only took a few minutes, but during that time, Cain let his hands wander. He reached out, pressing palms to the larger man's back. The doctor grinned at the touch, watching as the water that left his hair was nearly clear.

"It'll take a couple showers for it to all wash out," Cain muttered, his thin hand lifting to grip the older man's bicep. Riff turned, combing his hair back out of his face with his fingers to look down at Cain as the hot water gave the older man's shoulders a tinge of red from the heat. He stared down at him, lifting a hand to caress the other's cheek and run his thumb gently over his cheekbone. "What is it?" Cain inquired, feeling the corners of his lips twitch into a small, nervous grin. He hated this butterfly feeling, being nervous around someone wasn't his thing, and he was certainly even more nervous with the close proximity to the stronger, older man who, though even with his previous training, was certain to be able to take him down without any effort at all.

"How… How old are you?" Riff asked, shifting his weight to the other leg as he stared down at the younger man with a grin.

"Riff…" he smirked, looking to his chest with his hands following his gaze. Touching the firm muscled chest before him, he glanced up with a whisper, "I'll never tell."

"Now why not?"

"Well, how old are you? You've already got grey hair," he chuckled lightly.

"I'm twenty-eight."

"Oh…" he paused, trailing his fingers down to the well-toned abs as he felt Riff's hands reach down and place themselves on the base of his back to pull him close.

"Now," he pulled him close, pressing their hips together, "How old are you, milord?"

"How about," the male smirked, trailing his eyes from the direction of the bathroom door back to Riff's eyes, "_Convince _me to tell."

"Convince you, huh?" the doctor breathed, leaning down and pressing his lips to Cain's. "I think I can do that." Without a second thought, Riff's large hands ghosted up Cain's small back. The doctor pressed himself against the other to force him against the shower wall and his thigh shifted so it was between the younger man's thighs. Pressing the thigh upwards, he rubbed against Cain's growing erection to hear a small moan pass the man's lips.

"Yo-… You'll have to try harder than that," he teased with a hand reaching down to touch Riff's privates. One large hand grabbed the one touching him, forcing it above Cain's head and pressing it to the wall behind him to hold it hostage. Riff's tongue lashed out to touch the man's throat with the hot organ as his free hand lowered to grip Cain's leg by the knee and lift it slightly. The larger man rocked his hips, grinding his privates against Cain's to listen to the small moans and hitched breaths the other would make. Cain's free hand lifted to grip Riff's shoulder in attempt to relieve the tension he had of being in such a compromising situation, though the fear of being stabbed or strangled by the larger man was slowly disappearing as he was being seduced by the rocking of the man's hips into his own.

"I-I'm gonna explode over here… Ngh! S-Stop…" Cain huffed, pushing the other away from him as he panted. It'd been a few minutes of the rocking of Riff's hips against his erection and he was growing lustful and needy.

"That's kind of a good thing, right?" Riff laughed, staring at the handsomely nude man before him.

"N-Not when I want… more," he breathed, staring up at the other.

"That's kind of hard to do in a shower… unless," the doctor shrugged, placing his hand on the shower wall next to the younger male's shoulder, leaning towards Cain to try and get him to understand what he was saying. Plus, being closer to the other meant he didn't have to say it loud enough for Oscar to hear. "Come on," he whispered, kissing the corner of Cain's mouth, "It'll be fun."

"Of course it would be," he smirked in a shy way, glancing up at Riff. Feeling one of the doctor's rogue hands ghost down his side and land on his hip to caress, Cain gave in with a small nod. He received an approving kiss from the other before he turned around, pressing his palms to the warm, damp wall of the shower. He kept his eyes away from the doctor, knowing all too well that this was the most embarrassing position he'd ever done. Of course, this wasn't his first time doing such a position, but it was more embarrassing since it was with someone he liked. He felt the three fingers remove themselves from his entrance after a while and the hands on his hips as Riff angled himself behind him. Finally, in a small moment of bravery, he turned his head and glanced back at the grinning doctor.

He held his breath as his face went pale, seeing his father in Riff's place staring at him with a maniacal look on his face.

"Take your arms and place them like this okay? I don't want you to hit your head," Riff said quietly, Cain complying to what he was doing simply because he couldn't stand up for himself. When the doctor took his wrist into his hand to help Cain stand properly, the assassin protected himself from his father by swinging his elbow into the man's stomach. Riff, who was rather startled by the blow to the gut, buckled and doubled over in the shower.

The "Take your arms-" had translated in Cain's mind to, "Take his arms-."

He panicked. Shoving the shower curtain open, he stepped out and snatched the towel from the counter to wrap it about his waist. He gathered his weapons and kept an eye on the shower as if he was worried his father may come after him.

"Cain!" Riff groaned, sitting up in the tub with an arm wrapped around his stomach. "Cain, wait! What's wrong?" It was too late. The younger man had gathered his things and stormed out of the bathroom. "What'd I do?" he asked quietly, turning and shutting off the shower.

* * *

><p>The counter had become his spot, and when either Riff or Oscar saw him on the counter, they knew to leave him alone. He chewed his nails, which meant he was nervous about what he was pondering. He was staring out the window, which meant he was worried. He wasn't wearing a shirt, which meant Riff needed to turn the heat down or off for a little while. His Glock 17 was exposed, which meant he was worried about someone being around. Riff could only think it was himself Cain was scared of.<p>

Riff observed the younger man from across the kitchen, sitting in a dining room chair with his arms crossed over his chest. He slouched down in the chair and stared at Cain with a sigh.

"I'm seventeen," Cain muttered, not taking his eyes off of the scenery outside. It was dark out, but it was still light enough to see silhouettes of the buildings nearby.

"What?" Riff asked, sitting up.

"I'm seventeen. The fake Ids we'll be making will say I'm twenty-four, but I'm nowhere near it. Hell, I'm not even legal to smoke." He gave a nervous, defeated chuckle as he said it, looking down away from the outside world through the window. "Shouldn't you be grossed out by now? Yelling? Getting angry? Something?" he asked, pleaded, as he looked to Riff. He simply wanted him to say something.

"Why?"

"Because you had sex with a kid."

"You're not a kid," Riff replied, watching as Cain looked back out through the window. He stood, walking over to the other as he watched him chew his nails. He placed his hand on the other's knee, rubbing it gently with his thumb in attempt to reassure him he was there.

"I'm sorry I ran hit you and ran off…" he whispered, feeling his eyes burn lightly. Trying to force the tears back, he felt his breaths hitch as if he were about to cry.

"I'm sure you had a good reason," Riff shrugged.

"You know the scars on my back are from my father."

"Yes."

"I'd been whipped since I can remember, at least once a day. So when you wanted to do it from… y'know, I was hesitant because it's a really embarrassing position…"

"I know," Riff nodded, rubbing his hand on Cain's leg in attempt to comfort him, "But I'm glad you were willing. We can always try again some other time. We don't have to rush it…"

"That's just it…" Cain breathed, lifting a hand to brush away a tear that had escaped. "I don't want to have sex with you like that. Not in that position…"

"Alright…" Riff nodded, trying to be as supportive as possible. It was difficult knowing that a quick and easy sex position was out of the question and it bothered him enough to try to think of other positions that were just as simple.

"Because when I looked back at you," he paused, taking a shaking breath and looking to Riff, "I saw my father."

'_Fuck…' _the doctor thought, feeling stupid and cruel when he realized he was worrying more about his sex life than how Cain felt.

"I got scared and did the only thing I was certain I could do. All I could think of to do was hit you and run," he muttered, looking up at Riff's face as the tears fell from his eyes. "I'm sorry, Riff…" His breaths sped up as he started to cry, staring up at the stunned doctor while he whispered a small "I'm sorry," over and over.

"I'm the one who's sorry, Cain…" Riff replied, finally gathering up his strength and wrapping his arms around the man in a protective way. "He's gone…" It killed Riff every time he saw a tear fall from the golden-green eyes he'd fallen in love with.

For the first time in a very long while, Cain let himself cry. Oscar stood in the doorway of the bedroom, watching as Riff held the younger man in a protective embrace. After a few minutes, when Cain calmed down a little, Riff snaked one arm under his legs and the other behind his back to lift him into his arms. He turned and his gaze instantly met Oscar's who gave a stern glare before he walked back into his bedroom, almost as if to tell him not to hurt him. Riff would never do such a thing.

"Cain?" Riff whispered, looking down at the younger man. He'd taken him to the living room to sit on the couch and watch TV after he calmed down. Cain's head was in the doctor's lap with his body stretched out over the couch and a hand on the other's knee in front of his face.

"Hm?" he hummed, keeping his eyes closed and feeling the large hand of the doctor stroke his hair then rest on the his shoulder.

"You're really just seventeen?"

"Yes."

"It doesn't seem that you'd be that young."

"That's because I've lived enough life for three people. I never got to be a kid."

It was true. When Riff thought of everything that Cain had told him had happened to him, the whippings, the missions, the guns, and knowing so many people in the underground, when was there any time to go outside and play? There never was. Cain had been expected to do his job since he was born, and it was slowly becoming understandable to think that Cain was still just a kid that had to grow up really fast. Cain didn't whine about anything. He didn't argue much because he was always compliant to what his father told him to do. He knew more about guns and how to kill a person than he did about movies or video games. This was the most time Cain had stayed in one place, against his better judgment, and was the most time he'd ever taken off from going on missions. It worried him to no end, but he never left the apartment and only went close to the window in the kitchen. He was paranoid, and Riff hated it.

"You know I'll protect you as well as I can, right? I'm not going to let anything hurt you."

"Riff, you're a doctor, not an assassin like me."

"Then teach me something, anything," he muttered, watching the other sit up and look at him with a strange stare.

"Why should I teach you anything? I don't need protecting, I'm fine on my own."

"Because I don't _want_ you to be on your own," Riff replied quietly, staring at him with a worried look. He lifted a hand to caress the man's cheek for a moment, letting it fall to gently hold onto Cain's bicep. "Because I want to protect you somehow. You said that the man who claimed to be your brother was going to steal your eyes…"

"Yes…"

"I want to protect them."

* * *

><p>"Your car got gas?" Oscar questioned Riff, sitting on one end of the couch and staring at the man with a toothpick between his teeth. He'd grown a habit of chewing on things, straws, plastic forks, toothpicks, since he needed to do so to keep his nerves in check. It helped keep him calm.<p>

"Yes. I don't drive my car much unless it's raining and it hasn't rained in a while, so I haven't used it. I have cash to buy some if we need it along the way," Riff replied as he buttoned the dark red dress shirt over his chest. Cain walked out of the bedroom with a black v-neck shirt in hand, but refused to put it on, letting his gun in its holster show. "Put your shirt on or you'll catch a cold," Riff muttered, tapping his knuckles once on the man's chest as he passed by him to pack some clothes for the trip. They weren't too sure where they were going, they just knew they were leaving London. Cain had some idea, but Oscar had decided he would choose the building and get everything set up so that Cain and Riff could get to work making contacts, training for other assignments, and looking to see if there were any clues on where Cain's supposed brother had last been seen.

"Don't tell me to put my shirt on…" he grumbled, keeping it to himself since Riff wouldn't understand. He pulled his holster off, handing it to Oscar who held it obediently, threw the shirt on, and strapped the leather gun holster around himself. Cain walked over and stood in the doorway of the bedroom to watch the doctor pack his things. There were two suitcases. One suitcase held Riff's personal, identifiable belongings and the other held his clothes. The leader of the three allowed this to happen, but knew it was going to kill him when he told the doctor he was to burn everything inside the first suitcase. It was their first stop.

* * *

><p>Over the years, Oscar had honed his skills in making fake Ids and fake drive-out tags on cars, and his ability to make them showed one the ones made for the three of them and the tag on the maroon Ford Focus. With the way Oscar drove, though, there was no need to be worried about being stopped. Once in the countryside, Oscar pulled onto a long dirt road that took them into a large pasture. They were still just on the outskirts of London which helped them get in touch still with Drew, the gun dealer, through the few phone booths still standing scattered about the city. She, however, wasn't a dealer of guns today, but a normal person who knew Oscar, Riff, and Cain. They were met by her at a corner of the large pasture standing by several metal barrels, one of which billowed smoke from its opening.<p>

"What's going on?" Riff asked, opening his door in the backseat.

"Just get out and you'll see," Oscar barked, slamming the driver's side door behind him as he stepped out. He met Drew with a handshake and watched as Cain opened the trunk and removed the suitcase of Riff's personal belongings. He set it on the damp grass and opened it, taking a handful of pictures and old documents into his hand.

Riff hopped out of the car, shut the door behind him, and glared at Cain. "What the hell are you doing, Cain?" he yelled, running over and reaching for the papers in his hand. They were snatched away and Oscar intervened, shoving the doctor back a few feet.

"It has to happen, Riff," Cain muttered, a small ounce of sadness filling his voice. It killed him to think that he was trapping the other in this, forcing him to live the rest of his life as a criminal. Cain had been forced to live this life, so who was he to force it on someone else?

"The fuck? No it doesn't!" Riff barked, standing his ground. "Don't do it."

"I told you there's no backing out of this. Once you're in it, you're in. We may not have told you where we're setting up our new business, but you know enough for me to kill you."

"You wouldn't," Riff scoffed, reaching for the papers again only to be met by the end of the barrel of Cain's glock. He stepped back, unsure of what to do, as Cain holstered his gun after a long pause the two shared.

"I would." Cain gave the saddest look to the other man, wishing Riff would just let it happen. "Just because I let you fuck me, you think I'd let this slide by? You think you're special because you slept with the boss?" he asked in a quiet tone, "You're sorely mistaken."

"I didn't think that."

"Yes, you did. And that kind of thinking will get you killed, Riff."

Riff paused, giving him an odd look as he took in what he was saying.

"I know this world better than you do, so listen to my reasoning," he started, finding a picture of Riff and a man together. "Who is this man beside you in this picture?"

"That was one of my patients. I performed a heart transplant on him and he survived it."

"Is he still alive today?"

"Yes."

"If an enemy of our business, perhaps even the police, were to get a hold of this picture, they could find this man, and show him your picture. Do you know what would happen if that were to occur?"

"What?"

"They would track that man to whatever hospital you performed the surgery on him at, then to whatever hospitals you worked at afterward. Then they'd ask if you'd been to work lately, the nice nurses there would say no because it's the truth and everyone has to tell the truth to the police," he said in a mocking tone before continuing, "Then they'd track you to your apartment where they would find the greenish tint of the bloodstain all the way up _your_ steps, to _your_ door, and into _your_ bedroom where _your _hands stitched up Oscar. They would attempt, and most likely succeed with modern technology, in testing the blood stain. They would track down Oscar and your car that just so happened to go missing. Do you see a pattern here, Riffael?"

"Yeah, but-"

"Do you see a fucking pattern, you little prick?" Cain barked, showing the picture to Riff.

"Yes, sir," Riff replied, almost angered by being yelled at by a seventeen year old. Suddenly, the doctor realized why the young man refused to tell him his age in the beginning.

"This man can get you killed," he said before throwing it into the fire in the oil drum. Riff went to reach for it but stopped when Cain went for his gun. The doctor backed off, silently fighting against Cain in his head. "This picture will get you killed, and this one, along with all of these," Cain said again as he threw a small stack of papers into the fire. He stopped and stepped away from the fire. There was still an entire suitcase full of papers and personal belongings that needed to be burned.

"Why'd you stop?" Riff asked, crossing his arms over his chest as a defiant child would.

"Because you're going to do it. It's not my life that's supposed to be thrown in there. Mine was taken from me when I was born, Riff," he whispered, glancing at Oscar who sat on the hood of the car. "I'm telling you these things because I don't want you killed. I'm making you destroy your past so you _can_ have a future. You're valuable to me, Riff, but only so if your heart's still beating. You are of no value to me if you decide that you can't let go of a few little pictures and a document or two. Let them go, and you'll be with me."

"For how long, Cain?"

"For as long as you make yourself valuable. If you end up with a trail and a pig on your back because you decided to slip a few prized photos into your pocket for safe keeping, you're as valuable as dirt."

Riff finally looked up, staring Cain down for what seemed like an hour. He stared first at the gun in Cain's holster, then to the golden-green eyes that he'd fallen for so many times since he'd met the assassin. He felt his heart pull when he thought that Cain would actually be willing to kill him. His mind flipped a little switch when he realized Cain wasn't going to make any exceptions and that he wasn't going to be given special treatment simply because they had sex. The young man would kill him on the spot if he even flinched the wrong way, but in his own way was begging the doctor to save himself and take the offer given to him. He nodded after a few minutes, and watched as their leader stepped back from Riff's stuff, holding a hand out to motion to him to finish the job.

It was painstaking and mentally brutal to see all the old pictures of his patients and himself and all the old papers of past surgeries and hospital paperwork that were burned one by one. As Oscar watched Riff to make sure he didn't keep anything, Drew made her way over to the leader who was leaning on the hood of the car with his arms crossed over his chest.

"So…" she started, speaking in a quiet tone to the man, "You slept with him, huh?"

"I had to. He didn't want to come with us and we need a doctor."

"Understandable," she nodded, smirking, "Was he any good?"

"Amazing, but I'll never tell him," he bragged lightly with a smirk. "He has to learn that just because we have sex, it does _not _mean that he's in any way special."

"If he was anything special, you'd have to kill him."

"Yup," he nodded once, "And I don't want to kill him."

"Because he _is_ special, right?"

Cain paused, looking over at Drew who nodded as if she knew something he didn't. Suddenly, an internal war was being fought in his mind as he thought over what she'd said. And in a moment of complete revelation, the assassin felt his cheeks burn and his heart race when he landed his gaze upon the handsome doctor who was dropping pictures painfully into the fire. He was special. They'd made love, not had sex. Riff was sweet to him and Cain wanted more. The assassin tore his eyes away from Riff to glance over at the woman beside him before shaking his head. "He's special because he's a doctor. Special because he's valuable." He lifted a hand to his mouth to chew on his nails. This whole ordeal made him nervous.

* * *

><p>Sleeplessness was common, inevitable, and hazardous in Cain and Oscar's line of work. In the car on the way to their destination, information that Cain had yet to pry from Oscar, the assassin had found himself staying awake for nearly an entire day. From sunup the day Riff burned all of his personal belongings, to the next day's sunrise. He was used to it, but his REM cycles seemed to be pulling at his eyelids with more gusto than ever before. They'd stopped on the road's shoulder once before to switch seats so Cain took over driving for Oscar so the man could sleep, but after only an hour, Oscar took the wheel with bright eyes and a more positive attitude on where they were headed. Cain, on the other hand, was blurry-eyed and negative, keeping his hand close to a gun or knife at all times. Riff made him jumpier the sleepier he got. Riff, who took up almost all of the backseat when he slept, let Cain sit with him and rest his head in the doctor's lap as he'd done before. The young man kept his hand on his gun as he slept which worried Riff to no end. Who was he afraid of? Riff couldn't kill him, and he knew it.<p>

"I'm stopping the car for a few hours. It'll be daylight soon, so get some sleep. We all need it," Oscar stated as he pulled off the road, parked and turned off the car, and leaned his seat back a few inches as he tried to get comfortable. They were still in the countryside so the trees were good cover for the car that was missing from Riff's apartment.

Riff shifted, lifting the slowly-waking Cain off of him and pulling him into his arms as he scooted down, filling the backseat with their tangled legs. The younger man, who'd been facing the front windshield, rolled to face Riff who held him tightly so he didn't fall into the floor. It was a small backseat, but they managed. Sleepy, golden-green eyes stared up into the silver orbs that watched him. Riff's hand lifted to caress his cheek, hesitant and almost apologetically as he did. "Would the boss approve of a kiss right about now?" he whispered, trying not to let Oscar hear.

"I think it's one of those things that you just do no matter the consequence," the young man whispered back with a small grin. It was a complete change of attitude from earlier.

"I hope the consequence is nice," he breathed a reply, lowering his head to press his lips to Cain's. Pulling away, they exchanged a look that both understood. After the fight they had about Riff's belongings, they felt a little distanced from each other even though they weren't very close to begin with. The doctor's hand ghosted down the younger man's exposed side before slipping his hand underneath the thin shirt he was wearing to slide his hand gently up the male's back, caressing him as he went.

"Let me do it," Cain whispered, staring up into Riff's steely, grey eyes. "You just stay quiet… I feel bad for being so harsh to you."

"You don't have to apologize. You had to do it. Otherwise, I wouldn't be laying here with you," he whispered his reply as he glanced down at the soft lips of the man before him before pressing his own to them. They were quickly accepted and forced into a more intense kiss as Cain tilted his head. Cain, skillful as he was, had lowered his hands and unbuttoned the other's pants in mere seconds before sliding his hand down underneath his jeans and boxers. "Hah…" Riff breathed as quietly as possible as he dug his face underneath Cain's cheek and against the seat. His mouth hung open, allowing only the smallest of breaths escape into the quiet of the car. He knew he would be so ashamed if Oscar heard, but as he felt the hand grip gently around his erection and give it a few firm strokes, he let himself forget about Oscar in the front seat.

"Cain…" he groaned a little louder than he intended, tightening his grip on the other's side.

"Be quiet, Riff. Go to sleep," Cain replied, trying to play it off as if the man was trying to get his attention while he was sleeping.

"I-I can't…"

"Now why's that?" he whispered in a mocking tone with a smirk as he rubbed his thumb over the tip of the man's erection in his hand.

"Oh, damn…" he breathed, trying his best to keep his hips from bucking into the hand. "Because… something's touching me," Riff replied, trying to keep the conversation going so Oscar didn't know what all was going on. He bit down on his bottom lip as a moan tried to escape and moved his face out from underneath the man's head to stare at him.

"Well, it's kind of a small backseat," Cain stated in a whisper as his smirk grew on his lips. "Besides, it's nowhere you haven't touched before. Or at least no places on you I haven't touched. It's not that big of a deal."

"It's big. I mean, a big deal!" he stated quickly to correct himself in a hushed voice, pressing his forehead to Cain's and closing his eyes. Cain's hand stopped when Oscar shifted in his seat. He looked back to see if Oscar was looking before continuing, moving his head back to where it was to press his lips to Riff's.

"No it's not. Just go to sleep," he muttered, not being as quiet as he was before.

Riff took the hand that was on Cain's back and lifted it to place it on the other's cheek, pulling his lips to his as he kissed him. Their tongues met in hot breaths as they tried their best to be quiet, only breathing through their noses in attempt to be as quiet as possible. A harsh kiss met Cain after a few minutes, opening his eyes when he realized what was about to happen. He paused his hand, shifting it so it was outside the other man's boxers, and moving it to stroke the firm erection through the cloth of the boxers. It wasn't as comfortable for Riff, but it was cleaner for Cain.

"Hah… Cain," Riff breathed, releasing onto the inside of his boxers when he felt his hips try to buck into the hand touching him. He stared down at the younger man who lifted up to kiss his lips once more before pulling his hand from his pants. Grinning, he calmed his breathing quickly as he kissed the other. After his revelation of why Cain had kept his true age from him, he wanted to kick himself when he did just what others would do if they knew it as well. They would think they were wiser and better than him because they were older, when neither fact was true. Cain was amazing in Riff's eyes. He was an assassin who had knives and guns attached to his body and no one would ever notice. He knew things that the common person didn't, and had access to a world that very few were born into. Cain was amazing because he could seduce, in Riff's mind, any man or woman he came across with just a look as Cain had done then in the backseat of the car. Either Riff was weak, or Cain was able to succumb the doctor with a single look. Because of his obvious physical and mental strength, Riff preferred the latter.

"Seriously," came a voice from the front seat. Cain and Riff both jumped, looking to the voice. Oscar had been awake the whole time. "You guys aren't subtle at all. Get a fucking room."

After a moment of realization that Oscar was still awake, Cain felt his lips twinge into a grin as Riff looked down at him with an embarrassed look. The assassin broke into a small laughing fit, laughing hard enough to bring tears to his eyes. Riff, who looked horrified before, started laughing with Cain when he finally got over his embarrassment.

_To be continued… with a little more seriousness…_


End file.
